THE Apostle’s words put confidence in the souls of the Christians. The end of the world seemed ever near to them, but they began to think that the day of judgment would not come immediately, that first they would see the end of Nero’s reign, which they looked on as the reign of Satan, and the punishment of God for Cæsar’s crimes, which were crying for vengeance. Strengthened in heart, they dispersed, after the prayer, to their temporary dwellings, and even to the Trans-Tiber; for news had come that the fire, set there in a number of places, had, with the change of wind, turned back toward the river, and, after devouring what it could here and there, had ceased to extend.
The Apostle, with Vinicius and Chilo, who followed him, left the excavation also. The young tribune did not venture to interrupt his prayers; hence he walked on in silence, merely imploring pity with his eyes, and trembling from alarm. Many approached to kiss Peter’s hands, and the hem of his mantle; mothers held out their children to him; some knelt in the dark, long passage, and, holding up tapers, begged a blessing; others, going alongside, sang: so there was no chance for question or answer. Thus it was in the narrow passage. Only when they came out to broader spaces, from which the burning city was in view, did the Apostle bless them three times, and say, turning to Vinicius,—
“Fear not. The hut of the quarryman is near; in it we shall find Linus, and Lygia, with her faithful servant. Christ, who predestined her to thee, has preserved her.”
Vinicius tottered, and placed his hand against the cliff. The road from Antium, the events at the wall, the search for Lygia amidst burning houses, sleeplessness, and his terrible alarm had exhausted him; and the news that the dearest person in the world was near by, and that soon he would see her, took the remnant of his strength from him. So great a weakness possessed him on a sudden that he dropped to the Apostle’s feet, and, embracing his knees, remained thus, without power to say a word.
“Not to me, not to me, but to Christ,” said the Apostle, who warded off thanks and honor.
“What a good God!” said the voice of Chilo from behind, “but what shall I do with the mules that are waiting down here?”
“Rise and come with me,” said Peter to the young man.
Vinicius rose. By the light of the burning, tears were visible on his face, which was pale from emotion. His lips moved, as if in prayer.
“Let us go,” said he.
But Chilo repeated again: “Lord, what shall I do with the mules that are waiting? Perhaps this worthy prophet prefers riding to walking.”
Vinicius did not know himself what to answer; but hearing from Peter that the quarryman’s hut was near by, he said,—
“Take the mules to Macrinus.”
“Pardon me, lord, if I mention the house in Ameriola. In view of such an awful fire, it is easy to forget a thing so paltry.”
“Thou wilt get it.”
“O grandson of Numa Pompilius, I have always been sure, but now, when this magnanimous prophet also has heard the promise, I will not remind thee even of this, that thou hast promised me a vineyard. Pax vobiscum. I shall find thee, lord. Pax vobiscum.”
They answered, “And peace with thee.”
Then both turned to the right toward the hills. Along the road Vinicius said,
“Lord, wash me with the water of baptism, so that I may call myself a real confessor of Christ, for I love Him with all the power of my soul. Wash me quickly, for I am ready in heart. And what thou commandest I will do, but tell me, so that I may do it in addition.”
“Love men as thy own brothers,” answered the Apostle, “for only with love mayst thou serve Him.”
“Yes, I understand and feel that. When a child I believed in the Roman gods, though I did not love them. But I so love Him the One God that I would give my life for Him gladly.” And he looked toward the sky, repeating with exaltation: “For He is one, for He alone is kind and merciful; hence, let not only this city perish, but the whole world, Him alone will I confess and recognize.”
“And He will bless thee and thy house,” concluded the Apostle.
Meanwhile they turned into another ravine, at the end of which a faint light was visible. Peter pointed to it and said,—
“There is the hut of the quarryman who gave us a refuge when, on the way from Ostrianum with the sick Linus, we could not go to the Trans-Tiber.”
After a while they arrived. The hut was rather a cave rounded Out in an indentation of the hill, and was faced outside with a wall made of reeds. The door was closed, but through an opening, which served for a window, the interior was visible, lighted by a fire. Some dark giant figure rose up to meet them, and inquired,—“Who are ye?”
“Servants of Christ,” answered Peter. “Peace be with thee, Ursus.”
Ursus bent to the Apostle’s feet; then, recognizing Vinicius, seized his hand by the wrist, and raised it to his lips.
“And thou, lord,” said he. “Blessed be the name of the Lamb, for the joy which thou wilt bring to Callina.”
He opened the door then, and entered. Linus was lying on a bundle of straw, with an emaciated face and a forehead as yellow as ivory. Near the fire sat Lygia with a string of small fish, intended evidently for supper. Occupied in removing the fish from the string, and thinking that it was Ursus who had entered, she did not raise her eyes. But Vinicius approached, and, pronouncing her name, stretched his hand to her. She sprang up quickly then; a flash of astonishment and delight shot across her face. Without a word, like a child who after days of fear and sorrow had found father or mother, she threw herself into his open arms.
He embraced her, pressed her to his bosom for some time with such ecstasy as if she had been saved by a miracle. Then, withdrawing his arms, he took her temples between his hands, kissed her forehead and her eyes, embraced her again, repeated her name, bent to her knees, to her palms, greeted her, did her homage, honored her. His delight had no bounds; neither had his love and happiness.
At last he told her how he had rushed in from Antium; had searched for her at the walls, in the smoke at the house of Linus; how he had suffered and was terrified; how much he had endured before the Apostle had shown him her retreat.
“But now,” said he, “that I have found thee, I will not leave thee near fire and raging crowds. People are slaying one another under the walls, slaves are revolting and plundering. God alone knows what miseries may fall yet on Rome. But I will save thee and all of you. Oh, my dear, let us go to Antium; we will take a ship there and sail to Sicily. My land is thy land, my houses are thy houses. Listen to me! In Sicily we shall find Aulus. I will give thee back to Pomponia, and take thee from her hands afterward. But, O carissima, have no further fear of me. Christ has not washed me yet, but ask Peter if on the way hither I have not told him my wish to be a real confessor of Christ, and begged him to baptize me, even in this hut of a quarryman. Believe, and let all believe me.”
Lygia heard these words with radiant face. The Christians formerly, because of Jewish persecutions, and then because of the fire and disturbance caused by the disaster, lived in fear and uncertainty. A journey to quiet Sicily would put an end to all danger, and open a new epoch of happiness in their lives. If Vinicius had wished to take only Lygia, she would have resisted the temptation surely, as she did not wish to leave Peter and Linus; but Vinicius said to them, “Come with me; my lands are your lands, my houses your houses.” At this Lygia inclined to kiss his hand, in sign of obedience, and said,—
“Where thou art, Caius, there am I, Caia.”
Then confused that she had spoken words which by Roman custom were repeated only at marriage, she blushed deeply, and stood in the light of the fire, with drooping head, in doubt lest he might take them ill of her. But in his face boundless homage alone was depicted. He turned then to Peter, and continued,—
“Rome is burning at command of Cæsar. In Antium he complained that he had never seen a great fire. And if he has not hesitated at such a crime, think what may happen yet. Who knows that he may not bring in troops, and command a slaughter? Who knows what proscriptions may come; who knows whether after the fire, civil war, murder, and famine may not come?
“Hide yourselves, therefore, and let us hide Lygia. There ye can wait till the storm passes, and when it is over return to sow your grain anew.”
Outside, from the direction of the Vatican Field, as if to confirm his fears, distant cries were heard full of rage and terror. At that moment the quarryman entered, the master of the hut, and, shutting the door hastily, he cried,—
“People are killing one another near the Circus of Nero. Slaves and gladiators have attacked the citizens.”
“Do ye hear?” said Vinicius.
“The measure is full,” said the Apostle; “and disasters will come, like a boundless sea.” Then he turned, and, pointing to Lygia, said, “Take the maiden, whom God has predestined to thee, and save her, and let Linus, who is sick, and Ursus go with you.”
But Vinicius, who had come to love the Apostle with all the power of his impetuous soul, exclaimed: “I swear, my teacher, that I will not leave thee here to destruction.”
“The Lord bless thee for thy wish,” answered Peter; “but hast thou not heard that Christ repeated thrice on the lake to me, ‘Feed my lambs’?”
Vinicius was silent.
“If thou, to whom no one has confided care over me, sayest that thou wilt not leave me to destruction, how canst thou wish me to leave my flock in the day of disaster? When there was a storm on the lake, and we were terrified in heart, He did not desert us; why should I, a servant, not follow my Master’s example?”
Then Linus raised his emaciated face and inquired,—
“O viceregent of the Lord, why should I not follow thy example?”
Vinicius began to pass his hand over his head, as if struggling with himself or fighting with his thoughts; then, seizing Lygia by the hand, he said, in a voice in which the energy of a Roman soldier was quivering,—
“Hear me, Peter, Linus, and thou, Lygia! I spoke as my human reason dictated; but ye have another reason, which regards, not your own danger, but the commands of the Redeemer. True, I did not understand this, and I erred, for the beam is not taken from my eyes yet, and the former nature is heard in me. But since I love Christ, and wish to be His servant, though it is a question for me of something more than my own life, I kneel here before thee, and swear that I will accomplish the command of love, and will not leave my brethren in the day of trouble.”
Then he knelt, and enthusiasm possessed him; raising his hands and eyes, he cried: “Do I understand Thee, O Christ? Am I worthy of Thee?”
His hands trembled; his eyes glistened with tears; his body trembled with faith and love. Peter took an earthen vessel with water, and, bringing it near him, said with solemnity,—
“Behold, I baptize thee in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen.”
Then a religious ecstasy seized all present. They thought that some light from beyond this world had filled the hut, that they heard some superhuman music, that the cliffs had opened above their heads, that choirs of angels were floating down from heaven, and far up there they saw a cross, and pierced hands blessing them.
Meanwhile the shouts of fighting were heard outside, and the roar of flames in the burning city.
CAMPS of people were disposed in the lordly gardens of Cæsar, formerly gardens of Domitius and Agrippina; they were disposed also on the Campus Martius, in the gardens of Pompey, Sallust, and Mæcenas, in porticos, tennis-courts, splendid summer-houses, and buildings erected for wild beasts. Peacocks, flamingoes, swans, ostriches, gazelles, African antelopes, and deer, which had served as ornaments to those gardens, went under the knives of the rabble. Provisions began to come in now from Ostria so abundantly that one might walk, as on a bridge, over ships, boats, and barges from one bank of the Tiber to the other. Wheat was sold at the unheard-of low price of three sestertia, and was given gratis to the indigent. Immense supplies of wine, olives, and chestnuts were brought to the city; sheep and cattle were driven in every day from the mountains. Wretches who before the fire had been hiding in alleys of the Subura, and were perishing of hunger in ordinary times, had a more pleasant life now. The danger of famine was averted completely, but it was more difficult to suppress robbery, murder, and abuses. A nomadic life insured impunity to thieves; the more easily since they proclaimed themselves admirers of Cæsar, and were unsparing of plaudits wherever he appeared. Moreover, when, by the pressure of events, the authorities were in abeyance, and there was a lack of armed force to quell insolence in a city inhabited by the dregs of contemporary mankind, deeds were done which passed human imagination. Every night there were battles and murders; every night boys and women were snatched away. At the Porta Mugionis, where there was a halting-place for herds driven in from the Campania, it come to engagements in which people perished by hundreds. Every morning the banks of the Tiber were covered with drowned bodies, which no one collected; these decayed quickly because of heat heightened by fire, and filled the air with foul odors. Sickness broke out on the camping-grounds, and the more timorous foresaw a great pestilence.
But the city burned on unceasingly. Only on the sixth day, when the fire reached empty spaces on the Esquiline, where an enormous number of houses had been demolished purposely, did it weaken. But the piles of burning cinders gave such strong light yet that people would not believe that the end of the catastrophe had come. In fact the fire burst forth with fresh force on the seventh night in the buildings of Tigellinus, but had short duration for lack of fuel. Burnt houses, however, fell here and there, and threw up towers of flame and pillars of sparks. But the glowing ruins began to grow black on the surface. After sunset the heavens ceased to gleam with bloody light, and only after dark did blue tongues quiver above the extended black waste, tongues which rose from piles of cinders.
Of the fourteen divisions of Rome there remained only four, including the Trans-Tiber. Flames had consumed all the others. When at last the piles of cinders had been turned into ashes, an immense space was visible from the Tiber to the Esquiline, gray, gloomy, dead. In this space stood rows of chimneys, like columns over graves in a cemetery. Among these columns gloomy crowds of people moved about in the daytime, some seeking for precious objects, others for the bones of those dear to them. In the night dogs howled above the ashes and ruins of former dwellings.
All the bounty and aid shown by Cæsar to the populace did not restrain evil speech and indignation. Only the herd of robbers, criminals, and homeless ruffians, who could eat, drink, and rob enough, were contented. People who had lost all their property and their nearest relatives were not won over by the opening of gardens, the distribution of bread, or the promise of games and gifts. The catastrophe had been too great and unparalleled. Others, in whom was hidden yet some spark of love for the city and their birthplace, were brought to despair by news that the old name “Roma” was to vanish, and that from the ashes of the capital Cæsar would erect a new city called Neropolis. A flood of hatred rose and swelled every day, despite the flatteries of the Augustians and the calumnies of Tigellinus. Nero, more sensitive than any former Cæsar to the favor of the populace, thought with alarm that in the sullen and mortal struggle which he was waging with patricians in the Senate, he might lack support. The Augustians themselves were not less alarmed, for any morning might bring them destruction. Tigellinus thought of summoning certain legions from Asia Minor. Vatinius, who laughed even when slapped on the face, lost his humor; Vitelius lost his appetite.
Others were taking counsel among themselves how to avert the danger, for it was no secret that were an outburst to carry off Cæsar, not one of the Augustians would escape, except, perhaps, Petronius. To their influence were ascribed the madnesses of Nero, to their suggestions all the crimes which he committed. Hatred for them almost surpassed that for Nero. Hence some began to make efforts to rid themselves of responsibility for the burning of the city. But to free themselves they must clear Cæsar also from suspicion, or no one would believe that they had not caused the catastrophe. Tigellinus took counsel on this subject with Domitius Afer, and even with Seneca, though he hated him. Poppæa, who understood that the ruin of Nero would be her own sentence, took the opinion of her confidants and of Hebrew priests, for it had been admitted for years that she held the faith of Jehovah. Nero found his own methods, which, frequently terrible, were more frequently foolish, and fell now into terror, now into childish delight, but above all he complained.
On a time a long and fruitless consultation was held in the house of Tiberius, which had survived the fire. Petronius thought it best to leave troubles, go to Greece, thence to Egypt and Asia Minor. The journey had been planned long before; why defer it, when in Rome were sadness and danger?
Cæsar accepted the counsel with eagerness; but Seneca when he had thought awhile, said,—
“It is easy to go, but it would be more difficult to return.”
“By Heracles!” replied Petronius, “we may return at the head of Asiatic legions.”
“This will I do!” exclaimed Nero.
But Tigellinus opposed. He could discover nothing himself, and if the arbiter’s idea had come to his own head he would beyond doubt have declared it the saving one; but with him the question was that Petronius might not be a second time the only man who in difficult moments could rescue all and every one.
“Hear me, divinity,” said he, “this advice is destructive! Before thou art at Ostia a civil war will break out; who knows but one of the surviving collateral descendants of the divine Augustus will declare himself Cæsar, and what shall we do if the legions take his side?”
“We shall try,” answered Nero, “that there be no descendants of Augustus. There are not many now; hence it is easy to rid ourselves of them.”
“It is possible to do so, but is it a question of them alone? No longer ago than yesterday my people heard in the crowd that a man like Thrasea should be Cæsar.”
Nero bit his lips. After a while he raised his eyes and said: “Insatiable and thankless. They have grain enough, and they have coal on which to bake cakes; what more do they want?”
“Vengeance!” replied Tigellinus.
Silence followed. Cæsar rose on a sudden, extended his hand, and began to declaim,—
“Hearts call for vengeance, and vengeance wants a victim.” Then, forgetting everything, he said, with radiant face: “Give me the tablet and stilus to write this line. Never could Lucan have composed the like. Have ye noticed that I found it in a twinkle?”
“O incomparable!” exclaimed a number of voices. Nero wrote down the line, and said,—
“Yes, vengeance wants a victim.” Then he cast a glance on those around him. “But if we spread the report that Vatinius gave command to burn the city, and devote him to the anger of the people?”
“O divinity! Who am I?” exclaimed Vatmius.
“True! One more important than thou is demanded. Is it Vitelius?”
Vitelius grew pale, but began to laugh.
“My fat,” answered he, “might start the fire again.”
But Nero had something else on his mind; in his soul he was looking for a victim who might really satisfy the people’s anger, and he found him.
“Tigellinus,” said he after a while, “it was thou who didst burn Rome!” A shiver ran through those present. They understood that Cæsar had ceased to jest this time, and that a moment had come which was pregnant with events.
The face of Tigellinus was wrinkled, like the lips of a dog about to bite.
“I burnt Rome at thy command!” said he.
And the two glared at each other like a pair of devils. Such silence followed that the buzzing of flies was heard as they flew through the atrium.
“Tigellinus,” said Nero, “dost thou love me?”
“Thou knowest, lord.”
“Sacrifice thyself for me.”
“O divine Cæsar,” answered Tigellinus, “why present the sweet cup which I may not raise to my lips? The people are muttering and rising; dost thou wish the pretorians also to rise?”
A feeling of terror pressed the hearts of those present. Tigellinus was pretorian prefect, and his words had the direct meaning of a threat. Nero himself understood this, and his face became pallid.
At that moment Epaphroditus, Cæsar’s freedman, entered, announcing that the divine Augusta wished to see Tigellinus, as there were people in her apartments whom the prefect ought to hear.
Tigellinus bowed to Cæsar, and went out with a face calm and contemptuous. Now, when they had wished to strike him, he had shown his teeth; he had made them understand who he was, and, knowing Nero’s cowardice, he was confident that that ruler of the world would never dare to raise a hand against him.
Nero sat in silence for a moment; then, seeing that those present expected some answer, he said,—
“I have reared a serpent in my bosom.”
Petronius shrugged his shoulders, as if to say that it was not difficult to pluck the head from such a serpent.
“What wilt thou say? Speak, advise!” exclaimed Nero, noticing this motion. “I trust in thee alone, for thou hast more sense than all of them, and thou lovest me.”
Petronius had the following on his lips: “Make me pretorian prefect, I will deliver Tigellinus to the people, and pacify the city in a day.” But his innate slothfulness prevailed. To be prefect meant to bear on his shoulder’s Cæsar’s person and also thousands of public affairs. And why should he perform that labor? Was it not better to read poetry in his splendid library, look at vases and statues, or hold to his breast the divine body of Eunice, twining her golden hair through his fingers, and inclining his lips to her coral mouth? Hence he said,—
“I advise the journey to Achæa.”
“Ah!” answered Nero, “I looked for something more from thee. The Senate hates me. If I depart, who will guarantee that it will not revolt and proclaim some one else Cæsar? The people have been faithful to me so far, but now they will follow the Senate. By Hades! if that Senate and that people had one head!—”
“Permit me to say, O divinity, that if thou desire to save Rome, there is need to save even a few Romans,” remarked Petronius, with a smile.
“What care I for Rome and Romans?” complained Nero. “I should be obeyed in Achæa. Here only treason surrounds me. All desert me, and ye are making ready for treason. I know it, I know it. Ye do not even imagine what future ages will say of you if ye desert such an artist as I am.”
Here he tapped his forehead on a sudden, and cried,—
“True! Amid these cares even I forget who I am.”
Then he turned to Petronius with a radiant face.
“Petronius,” said he, “the people murmur; but if I take my lute and go to the Campus Martius, if I sing that song to them which I sang during the conflagration, dost thou not think that I will move them, as Orpheus moved wild beasts?”
To this Tullius Senecio, who was impatient to return to his slave women brought in from Antium, and who had been impatient a long time, replied,—
“Beyond doubt, O Cæsar, if they permit thee to begin.”
“Let us go to Hellas!” cried Nero, with disgust.
But at that moment Poppæa appeared, and with her Tigellinis. The eyes of those present turned to him unconsciously, for never had triumphator ascended the Capitol with pride such as his when he stood before Cæsar. He began to speak slowly and with emphasis, in tones through which the bite of iron, as it were, was heard,—
“Listen. O Cæsar, for I can say: I have found! The people want vengeance, they want not one victim, but hundreds, thousands. Hast heard, lord, who Christos was,—he who was crucified by Pontius Pilate? And knowest thou who the Christians are? Have I not told thee of their crimes and foul ceremonies, of their predictions that fire would cause the end of the world? People hate and suspect them. No one has seen them in a temple at any time, for they consider our gods evil spirits; they are not in the Stadium, for they despise horse races. Never have the hands of a Christian done thee honor with plaudits. Never has one of them recognized thee as god. They are enemies of the human race, of the city, and of thee. The people murmur against thee; but thou hast given me no command to burn Rome, and I did not burn it. The people want vengeance; let them have it. The people want blood and games; let them have them. The people suspect thee; let their suspicion turn in another direction.”
Nero listened with amazement at first; but as Tigellinus proceeded, his actor’s face changed, and assumed in succession expressions of anger, sorrow, sympathy, indignation. Suddenly he rose, and, casting off the toga, which dropped at his feet, he raised both hands and stood silent for a time. At last he said, in the tones of a tragedian,—
“O Zeus, Apollo, Here, Athene, Persephone, and all ye immortals! why did ye not come to aid us? What has this hapless city done to those cruel wretches that they burnt it so inhumanly?”
“They are enemies of mankind and of thee,” said Poppæa.
“Do justice!” cried others. “Punish the incendiaries! The gods themselves call for vengeance!”
Nero sat down, dropped his head to his breast, and was silent a second time, as if stunned by the wickedness of which he had heard. But after a while he shook his hands, and said,—
“What punishments, what tortures befit such a crime? But the gods will inspire me, and, aided by the powers of Tartarus, I will give my poor people such a spectacle that they will remember me for ages with gratitude.”
The forehead of Petronius was covered with a sudden cloud. He thought of the danger hanging over Lygia and over Vinicius, whom he loved, and over all those people whose religion he rejected, but of whose innocence he was certain. He thought also that one of those bloody orgies would begin which his eyes, those of an æsthetic man, could not suffer. But above all he thought: “I must save Vinicius, who will go mad if that maiden perishes”; and this consideration outweighed every other, for Petronius understood well that he was beginning a game far more perilous than any in his life. He began, however, to speak freely and carelessly, as his wont was when criticising or ridiculing plans of Cæsar and the Augustians that were not sufficiently æsthetic,—
“Ye have found victims! That is true. Ye may send them to the arena, or array them in ‘painful tunics.’ That is true also. But hear me! Ye have authority, ye have pretorians, ye have power; then be sincere, at least, when no one is listening! Deceive the people, but deceive not one another. Give the Christians to the populace, condemn them to any torture ye like; but have courage to say to yourselves that it was not they who burnt Rome. Phy! Ye call me ‘arbiter elegantiarum’; hence I declare to you that I cannot endure wretched comedies! Phy! how all this reminds me of the theatrical booths near the Porta Asinaria, in which actors play the parts of gods and kings to amuse the suburban rabble, and when the play is over wash down onions with sour wine, or get blows of clubs! Be gods and kings in reality; for I say that ye can permit yourselves the position! As to thee, O Cæsar, thou hast threatened us with the sentence of coming ages; but think, those ages will utter judgment concerning thee also. By the divine Clio! Nero, ruler of the world, Nero, a god, burnt Rome, because he was as powerful on earth as Zeus on Olympus,—Nero the poet loved poetry so much that he sacrificed to it his country! From the beginning of the world no one did the like, no one ventured on the like. I beseech thee in the name of the double-crowned Libethrides, renounce not such glory, for songs of thee will sound to the end of ages! What will Priam be when compared with thee; what Agamenmon; what Achilles; what the gods themselves? We need not say that the burning of Rome was good, but it was colossal and uncommon. I tell thee, besides, that the people will raise no hand against thee! It is not true that they will. Have courage; guard thyself against acts unworthy of thee,—for this alone threatens thee, that future ages may say, ‘Nero burned Rome; but as a timid Cæsar and a timid poet he denied the great deed out of fear, and cast the blame of it on the innocent!’”
The arbiter’s words produced the usual deep impression on Nero; but Petronius was not deceived as to this, that what he had said was a desperate means which in a fortunate event might save the Christians, it is true, but might still more easily destroy himself. He had not hesitated, however, for it was a question at once of Vinicius whom he loved, and of hazard with which he amused himself. “The dice are thrown,” said he to himself, “and we shall see how far fear for his own life outweighs in the monkey his love of glory.”
And in his soul he had no doubt that fear would outweigh.
Meanwhile silence fell after his words. Poppæa and all present were looking at Nero’s eyes as at a rainbow. He began to raise his lips, drawing them to his very nostrils, as was his custom when he knew not what to do; at last disgust and trouble were evident on his features.
“Lord,” cried Tigellinus, on noting this, “permit me to go; for when people wish to expose thy person to destruction, and call thee, besides, a cowardly Cæsar, a cowardly poet, an incendiary, and a comedian, my ears cannot suffer such expressions!”
“I have lost,” thought Petronius. But turning to Tigellinus, he measured him with a glance in which was that contempt for a ruffian which is felt by a great lord who is an exquisite.
“Tigellinus,” said he, “it was thou whom I called a comedian; for thou art one at this very moment.”
“Is it because I will not listen to thy insults?”
“It is because thou art feigning boundless love for Cæsar,—thou who a short while since wert threatening him with pretorians, which we all understood as did he!”
Tigellinus, who had not thought Petronius sufficiently daring to throw dice such as those on the table, turned pale, lost his head, and was speechless. This was, however, the last victory of the arbiter over his rival, for that moment Poppæa said,—
“Lord, how permit that such a thought should even pass through the head of any one, and all the more that any one should venture to express it aloud in thy presence!”
“Punish the insolent!” exclaimed Vitelius.
Nero raised his lips again to his nostrils, and, turning his near-sighted, glassy eyes on Petronius, said,—
“Is this the way thou payest me for the friendship which I had for thee?”
“If I am mistaken, show me my error,” said Petronius; “but know that I speak that which love for thee dictates.”
“Punish the insolent!” repeated Vitelius.
“Punish!” called a number of voices.
In the atrium there was a murmur and a movement, for people began to withdraw from Petronius. Even Tullius Senecio, his constant companion at the court, pushed away, as did young Nerva, who had shown him hitherto the greatest friendship. After a while Petronius was alone on the left side of the atrium, with a smile on his lips; and gathering with his hands the folds of his toga, he waited yet for what Cæsar would say or do.
“Ye wish me to punish him” said Cæsar; “but he is my friend and comrade. Though he has wounded my heart, let him know that for friends this heart has naught but forgiveness.”
“I have lost, and am ruined,” thought Petronius.
Meanwhile Cæsar rose, and the consultation was ended.
PETRONIUS went home. Nero and Tigellinus went to Poppæa’s atrium, where they were expected by people with whom the prefect had spoken already.
There were two Trans-Tiber rabbis in long solemn robes and mitred, a young copyist, their assistant, together with Chilo. At sight of Cæsar the priests grew pale from emotion, and, raising their hands an arm’s length, bent their heads to his hands.
“Be greeted, O ruler of the earth, guardian of the chosen people, and Cæsar, lion among men, whose reign is like sunlight, like the cedar of Lebanon, like a spring, like a palm, like the balsam of Jericho.”
“Do ye refuse to call me god?” inquired Nero.
The priests grew still paler. The chief one spoke again,—
“Thy words, O lord, are as sweet as a cluster of grapes, as a ripe fig,—for Jehovah filled thy heart with goodness! Thy father’s predecessor, Cæsar Caius, was stern; still our envoys did not call him god, preferring death itself to violation of the law.”
“And did not Caligula give command to throw them to the lions?”
“No, lord; Cæsar Caius feared Jehovah’s anger.”
And they raised their heads, for the name of the powerful Jehovah gave them courage; confident in his might, they looked into Nero’s eyes with more boldness.
“Do ye accuse the Christians of burning Rome?” inquired Cæsar. “We, lord, accuse them of this alone,—that they are enemies of the law, of the human race, of Rome, and of thee; that long since they have threatened the city and the world with fire! The rest will be told thee by this man, whose lips are unstained by a lie, for in his mother’s veins flowed the blood of the chosen people.”
Nero turned to Chilo: “Who art thou?”
“One who honors thee, O Cyrus; and, besides, a poor Stoic-”
“I hate the Stoics,” said Nero. “I hate Thrasea; I hate Musonius and Cornutus. Their speech is repulsive to me; their contempt for art, their voluntary squalor and filth.”
“O lord, thy master Seneca has one thousand tables of citrus wood. At thy wish I will have twice as many. I am a Stoic from necessity. Dress my stoicism, O Radiant One, in a garland of roses, put a pitcher of wine before it; it will sing Anacreon in such strains as to deafen every Epicurean.”
Nero, who was pleased by the title “Radiant,” smiled and said,-“Thou dost please me.”
“This man is worth his weight in gold!” cried Tigellinus.
“Put thy liberality with my weight,” answered Chilo, “or the wind will blow my reward away.”
“He would not outweigh Vitelius,” put in Cæsar.
“Eheu! Silver-bowed, my wit is not of lead.”
“I see that thy faith does not hinder thee from calling me a god.”
“O Immortal! My faith is in thee; the Christians blaspheme against that faith, and I hate them.”
“What dost thou know of the Christians?”
“Wilt thou permit me to weep, O divinity?”
“No,” answered Nero; “weeping annoys me.”
“Thou art triply right, for eyes that have seen thee should be free of tears forever. O lord, defend me against my enemies.”
“Speak of the Christians,” said Poppæa, with a shade of impatience.
“It will be at thy command, O Isis,” answered Chilo. “From youth I devoted myself to philosophy, and sought truth. I sought it among the ancient divine sages, in the Academy at Athens, and in the Serapeum at Alexandria. When I heard of the Christians, I judged that they formed some new school in which I could find certain kernels of truth; and to my misfortune I made their acquaintance. The first Christian whom evil fate brought near me was one Glaucus, a physician of Naples. From him I learned in time that they worship a certain Chrestos, who promised to exterminate all people and destroy every city on earth, but to spare them if they helped him to exterminate the children of Deucalion. For this reason, O lady, they hate men, and poison fountains; for this reason in their assemblies they shower curses on Rome, and on all temples in which our gods are honored. Chrestos was crucified; but he promised that when Rome was destroyed by fire, he would come again and give Christians dominion over the world.”
“People will understand now why Rome was destroyed,” interrupted Tigellinus.
“Many understand that already, O lord, for I go about in the gardens, I go to the Campus Martius, and teach. But if ye listen to the end, ye will know my reasons for vengeance. Glaucus the physician did not reveal to me at first that their religion taught hatred. On the contrary, he told me that Chrestos was a good divinity, that the basis of their religion was love. My sensitive heart could not resist such a truth; hence I took to loving Glaucus, I trusted him, I shared every morsel of bread with him, every copper coin, and dost thou know, lady, how he repaid me? On the road from Naples to Rome he thrust a knife into my body, and my wife, the beautiful and youthful Berenice, he sold to a slave-merchant. If Sophocles knew my history—but what do I say? One better than Sophocles is listening.”
“Poor man!” said Poppæa.
“Whoso has seen the face of Aphrodite is not poor, lady; and I see it at this moment. But then I sought consolation in philosophy. When I came to Rome, I tried to meet Christian elders to obtain justice against Glaucus. I thought that they would force him to yield up my wife. I became acquainted with their chief priest; I became acquainted with another, named Paul, who was in prison in this city, but was liberated afterward; I became acquainted with the son of Zebedee, with Linus and Clitus and many others. I know where they lived before the fire, I know where they meet. I can point out one excavation in the Vatican Hill and a cemetery beyond the Nomentan Gate, where they celebrate their shameless ceremonies. I saw the Apostle Peter. I saw how Glaucus killed children, so that the Apostle might have something to sprinkle on the heads of those present; and I saw Lygia, the foster-child of Pomponia Græcina, who boasted that though unable to bring the blood of an infant, she brought the death of an infant, for she bewitched the little Augusta, thy daughter, O Cyrus, and thine, O Isis!”
“Dost hear, Cæsar?” asked Poppæa.
“Can that be!” exclaimed Nero.
“I could forgive wrongs done myself,” continued Chilo, “but when I heard of yours, I wanted to stab her. Unfortunately I was stopped by the noble Vinicius, who loves her.”
“Vinicius? But did she not flee from him?”
“She fled, but he made search for her; he could not exist without her. For wretched pay I helped him in the search, and it was I who pointed out to him the house in which she lived among the Christians in the Trans-Tiber. We went there together, and with us thy wrestler Croton, whom the noble Vinicius hired to protect him. But Ursus, Lygia’s slave, crushed Croton. That is a man of dreadful strength, O Lord, who can break a bull’s neck as easily as another might a poppy stalk. Aulus and Pomponia loved him because of that.”
“By Hercules,” said Nero, “the mortal who crushed Croton deserves a statue in the Forum. But, old man, thou art mistaken or art inventing, for Vinicius killed Croton with a knife.”
“That is how people calumniate the gods. O lord, I myself saw Croton’s ribs breaking in the arms of Ursus, who rushed then on Vinicius and would have killed him but for Lygia. Vinicius was ill for a long time after that but they nursed him in the hope that through love he would become a Christian. In fact, he did become a Christian.”
“Vinicius?”
“Yes.”
“And, perhaps, Petronius too?” inquired Tigellinus, hurriedly.
Chilo squirmed, rubbed his hands, and said,—
“I admire thy penetration, O lord. He may have become one! He may very well have become one.”
“Now I understand why he defended the Christians.”
Nero laughed: “Petronius a Christian! Petronius an enemy of life and luxury! Be not foolish; do not ask me to believe that, since I am ready not to believe anything.”
“But the noble Vinicius became a Christian, lord. I swear by that radiance which comes from thee that I speak the truth, and that nothing pierces me with such disgust as lying. Pomponia Græcina is a Christian, little Aulus is a Christian, Lygia is a Christian, and so is Vinicius. I served him faithfully, and in return, at the desire of Glaucus the physician, he gave command to flog me, though I am old and was sick and hungry. And I have sworn by Hades that I will not forget that for him. O lord, avenge my wrongs on them, and I will deliver to thee Peter the Apostle and Linus and Clitus and Glaucus and Crispus, the highest ones, and Lygia and Ursus. I will point out hundreds of them to you, thousands; I will indicate their houses of prayer, the cemeteries, all thy prisons will not hold them! Without me ye could not find them. In misfortunes I have sought consolation; hitherto in philosophy alone, now I will find it in favors that will descend on me. I am old, and have not known life; let me begin.”
“It is thy wish to be a Stoic before a full plate,” said Nero.
“Whoso renders service to thee will fill it by that same.”
“Thou art not mistaken, O philosopher.”
But Poppæa did not forget her enemies. Her fancy for Vinicius was, indeed, rather a momentary whim, which had risen under the influence of jealousy, anger, and wounded vanity. Still the coolness of the young patrician touched her deeply, and filled her heart with a stubborn feeling of offence. This alone, that he had dared to prefer another, seemed to her a crime calling for vengeance. As to Lygia, she hated her from the first moment, when the beauty of that northern lily alarmed her. Petronius, who spoke of the too narrow hips of the girl, might talk what he pleased into Cæsar, but not into the Augusta. Poppæa the critic understood at one cast of the eye that in all Rome Lygia alone could rival and even surpass her. Thenceforth she vowed her ruin.
“Lord,” said she, “avenge our child.”
“Hasten!” cried Chilo, “hasten! Otherwise Vinicius will hide her. I will point out the house to which she returned after the fire.”
“I will give thee ten men, and go this moment,” said Tigellinus.
“O lord! thou hast not seen Croton in the arms of Ursus; if thou wilt give fifty men, I will only show the house from a distance. But if ye will not imprison Vinicius, I am lost.”
Tigellinus looked at Nero. “Would it not be well, O divinity, to finish at once with the uncle and nephew?”
Nero thought a moment and answered,—
“No, not now. People would not believe us if we tried to persuade them that Petronius, Vinicius, or Pomponia Græcina had fired Rome. Their houses were too beautiful. Their turn will come later; to-day other victims are needed.”
“Then, O lord, give me soldiers as a guard,” said Chilo.
“See to this, Tigellinus.”
“Thou wilt lodge meanwhile with me,” said the prefect to Chilo.
Delight beamed from the face of the Greek.
“I will give up all! only hasten!—hasten!” cried he, with a hoarse voice.