Quo Vadis, Henryk Sienkiewicz [e book reader android .TXT] 📗
- Author: Henryk Sienkiewicz
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something at thy request than at mine. Do not count on that, however.
Get her out of the prison, and flee! Nothing else is left. If that does
not succeed, there will be time for other methods. Meanwhile know that
Lygia is in prison, not alone for belief in Christ; Poppæa’s anger is
pursuing her and thee. Thou hast offended the Augusta by rejecting her,
dost remember? She knows that she was rejected for Lygia, whom she
hated from the first cast of the eye. Nay, she tried to destroy Lygia
before by ascribing the death of her own infant to her witchcraft. The
hand of Poppæa is in this. How explain that Lygia was the first to be
imprisoned? Who could point out the house of Linus? But I tell thee
that she has been followed this long time. I know that I wring thy
soul, and take the remnant of thy hope from thee, but I tell thee this
purposely, for the reason that if thou free her not before they come at
the idea that thou wilt try, ye are both lost.”
“Yes; I understand!” muttered Vinicius.
The streets were empty because of the late hour. Their further
conversation was interrupted, however, by a drunken gladiator who came
toward them. He reeled against Petronius, put one hand on his shoulder,
covering his face with a breath filled with wine, and shouted in a
hoarse voice,—
“To the lions with Christians!”
“Mirmillon,” answered Petronius, quietly, “listen to good counsel; go
thy way.”
With his other hand the drunken man seized him by the arm,—
“Shout with me, or I’ll break thy neck: Christians to the lions!” But
the arbiter’s nerves had had enough of those shouts. From the time that
he had left the Palatine they had been stifling him like a nightmare,
and rending his ears. So when he saw the fist of the giant above him,
the measure of his patience was exceeded.
“Friend,” said he, “thou hint the smell of wine, and art stopping my
way.”
Thus speaking, he drove into the man’s breast to the hilt the short
sword which he had brought from home; then, taking the arm of Vinicius,
he continued as if nothing had happened,—
“Cæsar said to-day, ‘Tell Vinicius from me to be at the games in which
Christians will appear.’ Dost understand what that means? They wish to
make a spectacle of thy pain. That is a settled affair. Perhaps that is
why thou and I are not imprisoned yet. If thou art not able to get her
at once—I do not know—Acte might take thy part; but can she effect
anything? Thy Sicilian lands, too, might tempt Tigellinus. Make the
trial.”
“I will give him all that I have,” answered Vinicius.
From the Carinæ to the Forum was not very far; hence they arrived soon.
The night had begun to pale, and the walls of the castle came out
definitely from the shadow.
Suddenly, as they turned toward the Mamertine prison, Petronius stopped,
and said,
“Pretorians! Too late!”
In fact the prison was surrounded by a double rank of soldiers. The
morning dawn was silvering their helmets and the points of their
javelins.
Vinicius grew as pale as marble. “Let us go on,” said he.
After a while they halted before the line. Gifted with an uncommon
memory, Petronius knew not only the officers, but nearly all the
pretorian soldiers. Soon he saw an acquaintance, a leader of a cohort,
and nodded to him.
“But what is this, Niger?” asked he; “are ye commanded to watch the
prison?”
“Yes, noble Petronius. The prefect feared lest they might try to rescue
the incendiaries.”
“Have ye the order to admit no one?” inquired Vinicius.
“We have not; acquaintances will visit the prisoners, and in that way we
shall seize more Christians.”
“Then let me in,” said Vinicius; and pressing Petronius’s hand, he said,
“See Acte, I will come to learn her answer.”
“Come,” responded Petronius.
At that moment under the ground and beyond the thick walls was heard
singing. The hymn, at first low and muffled, rose more and more. The
voices of men, women, and children were mingled in one harmonious
chorus. The whole prison began to sound, in the calmness of dawn, like
a harp. But those were not voices of sorrow or despair; on the
contrary, gladness and triumph were heard in them.
The soldiers looked at one another with amazement. The first golden and
rosy gleams of the morning appeared in the sky.
THE cry, “Christians to the lions!” was heard increasingly in every part
of the city. At first not only did no one doubt that they were the real
authors of the catastrophe, but no one wished to doubt, since their
punishment was to be a splendid amusement for the populace. Still the
opinion spread that the catastrophe would not have assumed such dreadful
proportions but for the anger of the gods; for this reason “piacula,” or
purifying sacrifices, were commanded in the temples. By advice of the
Sibylline books, the Senate ordained solemnities and public prayer to
Vulcan, Ceres, and Proserpina. Matrons made offerings to Juno; a whole
procession of them went to the seashore to take water and sprinkle with
it the statue of the goddess. Married women prepared feasts to the gods
and night watches. All Rome purified itself from sin, made offerings,
and placated the Immortals. Meanwhile new broad streets were opened
among the ruins. In one place and another foundations were laid for
magnificent houses, palaces, and temples. But first of all they built
with unheard-of haste an enormous wooden amphitheatre in which
Christians were to die. Immediately after that consultation in the house
of Tiberius, orders went to consuls to furnish wild beasts. Tigellinus
emptied the vivaria of all Italian cities, not excepting the smaller
ones. In Africa, at his command, gigantic hunts were organized, in
which the entire local population was forced to take part. Elephants
and tigers were brought in from Asia, crocodiles and hippopotamuses from
the Nile, lions from the Atlas, wolves and bears from the Pyrenees,
savage hounds from Hibernia, Molossian dogs from Epirus, bisons and the
gigantic wild aurochs from Germany. Because of the number of prisoners,
the games were to surpass in greatness anything seen up to that time.
Cæsar wished to drown all memory of the fire in blood, and make Rome
drunk with it; hence never had there been a greater promise of
bloodshed.
The willing people helped guards and pretorians in hunting Christians.
That was no difficult labor for whole groups of them camped with the
other population in the midst of the gardens, and confessed their faith
openly. When surrounded, they knelt, and while singing hymns let
themselves be borne away without resistance. But their patience only
increased the anger of the populace, who, not understanding its origin,
considered it as rage and persistence in crime. A madness seized the
persecutors. It happened that the mob wrested Christians from
pretorians, and tore them to pieces; women were dragged to prison by the
hair; children’s heads were dashed against stones. Thousands of people
rushed, howling, night and day through the streets. Victims were sought
in ruins, in chimneys, in cellars. Before the prison bacchanalian
feasts and dances were celebrated at fires, around casks of wine.
In the evening was heard with delight bellowing which was like thunder,
and which sounded throughout the city. The prisons were overflowing
with thousands of people; every day the mob and pretorians drove in new
victims. Pity had died out. It seemed that people had forgotten to
speak, and in their wild frenzy remembered one shout alone: “To the
lions with Christians!” Wonderfully hot days came, and nights more
stifling than ever before; the very air seemed filled with blood, crime,
and madness.
And that surpassing measure of cruelty was answered by an equal measure
of desire for martyrdom,—the confessors of Christ went to death
willingly, or even sought death till they were restrained by the stern
commands of superiors. By the injunction of these superiors they began
to assemble only outside the city, in excavations near the Appian Way,
and in vineyards belonging to patrician Christians, of whom none had
been imprisoned so far. It was known perfectly on the Palatine that to
the confessors of Christ belonged Flavius, Domitilla, Pomponia Græcina,
Cornelius Pudens, and Vinicius. Cæsar himself, however, feared that the
mob would not believe that such people had burned Rome, and since it was
important beyond everything to convince the mob, punishment and
vengeance were deferred till later days. Others were of the opinion,
but erroneously, that those patricians were saved by the influence of
Acte. Petronius, after parting with Vinicius, turned to Acte, it is
true, to gain assistance for Lygia; but she could offer him only tears,
for she lived in oblivion and suffering, and was endured only in so far
as she hid herself from Poppæa and Cæsar.
But she had visited Lygia in prison, she had carried her clothing and
food, and above all had saved her from injury on the part of the prison-guards, who, moreover, were bribed already.
Petronius, unable to forget that had it not been for him and his plan of
taking Lygia from the house of Aulus, probably she would not be in
prison at that moment, and, besides, wishing to win the game against
Tigellinus, spared neither time nor efforts. In the course of a few
days he saw Seneca, Domitius Afer, Crispinilla, and Diodorus, through
whom he wished to reach Poppæa; he saw Terpnos, and the beautiful
Pythagoras, and finally Aliturus and Paris, to whom Cæsar usually
refused nothing. With the help of Chrysothemis, then mistress of
Vatinius, he tried to gain even his aid, not sparing in this case and in
others promises and money.
But all these efforts were fruitless. Seneca, uncertain of the morrow,
fell to explaining to him that the Christians, even if they had not
burned Rome, should be exterminated, for the good of the city,—in a
word, he justified the coming slaughter for political reasons. Terpnos
and Diodorus took the money, and did nothing in return for it. Vatinius
reported to Cæsar that they had been trying to bribe him. Aliturus
alone, who at first was hostile to the Christians, took pity on them
then, and made bold to mention to Cæsar the imprisoned maiden, and to
implore in her behalf. He obtained nothing, however, but the answer,—
“Dost thou think that I have a soul inferior to that of Brutus, who
spared not his own sons for the good of Rome?”
When this answer was repeated to Petronius, he said,—
“Since Nero has compared himself to Brutus, there is no salvation.”
But he was sorry for Vinicius, and dread seized him lest he might
attempt his own life. “Now,” thought the arbiter, “he is upheld by the
efforts which he makes to save her, by the sight of her, and by his own
suffering; but when all means fail and the last ray of hope is quenched,
by Castor! he will not survive, he will throw himself on his sword.”
Petronius understood better how to die thus than to love and suffer like
Vinicius.
Meanwhile Vinicius did all that he could think of to save Lygia. He
visited Augustians; and he, once so proud, now begged their assistance.
Through Vitelius he offered Tigellinus all his Sicilian estates, and
whatever else the man might ask; but Tigellinus, not wishing apparently
to offend the Augusta, refused. To go to Cæsar himself, embrace his
knees and implore, would lead to nothing. Vinicius wished, it is true,
to do this; but Petronius,
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