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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 the

hands of Vinicius drop. Vinicius stood before him shamefaced and

enraged.

 

“Thou hast a steel hand,” said he; “but if thou hast betrayed me, I

swear, by all the infernal gods, that I will thrust a knife into thy

body, though thou be in the chambers of Cæsar.”

 

“Let us talk calmly,” said Petronius. “Steel is stronger, as thou

seest, than iron; hence, though out of one of thy arms two as large as

mine might be made, I have no need to fear thee. On the contrary, I

grieve over thy rudeness, and if the ingratitude of men could astonish

me yet, I should be astonished at thy ingratitude.”

 

“Where is Lygia?”

 

“In a brothel,—that is, in the house of Cæsar.”

 

“Petronius!”

 

“Calm thyself, and be seated. I asked Cæsar for two things, which he

promised me,—first, to take Lygia from the house of Aulus, and second

to give her to thee. Hast thou not a knife there under the folds of thy

toga? Perhaps thou wilt stab me! But I advise thee to wait a couple of

days, for thou wouldst be taken to prison, and meanwhile Lygia would be

wearied in thy house.”

 

Silence followed. Vinicius looked for some time with astonished eyes on

Petronius; then he said,—“Pardon me; I love her, and love is disturbing

my faculties.”

 

“Look at me, Marcus. The day before yesterday I spoke to Cæsar as

follows: ‘My sister’s son, Vinicius, has so fallen in love with a lean

little girl who is being reared with the Auluses that his house is

turned into a steambath from sighs. Neither thou, O Cæsar, nor I—we who

know, each of us, what true beauty is—would give a thousand sesterces

for her; but that lad has ever been as dull as a tripod, and now he has

lost all the wit that was in him.’”

 

“Petronius!”

 

“If thou understand not that I said this to insure Lygia’s safety, I am

ready to believe that I told the truth. I persuaded Bronzebeard that a

man of his æsthetic nature could not consider such a girl beautiful; and

Nero, who so far has not dared to look otherwise than through my eyes,

will not find in her beauty, and, not finding it, will not desire her.

It was necessary to insure ourselves against the monkey and take him on

a rope. Not he, but Poppæa, will value Lygia now; and Poppæa will

strive, of course, to send the girl out of the palace at the earliest.

I said further to Bronzebeard, in passing: ‘Take Lygia and give her to

Vinicius! Thou hast the right to do so, for she is a hostage; and if

thou take her, thou wilt inflict pain on Aulus.’ He agreed; he had not

the least reason not to agree, all the more since I gave him a chance to

annoy decent people. They will make thee official guardian of the

hostage, and give into thy hands that Lygian treasure; thou, as a friend

of the valiant Lygians, and also a faithful servant of Cæsar, wilt not

waste any of the treasure, but wilt strive to increase it. Cæsar, to

preserve appearances, will keep her a few days in his house, and then

send her to thy insula. Lucky man!”

 

“Is this true? Does nothing threaten her there in Cæsar’s house?”

 

“If she had to live there permanently, Poppæa would talk about her to

Locusta, but for a few days there is no danger. Ten thousand people

live in it. Nero will not see her, perhaps, all the more since he left

everything to me, to the degree that just now the centurion was here

with information that he had conducted the maiden to the palace and

committed her to Acte. She is a good soul, that Acte; hence I gave

command to deliver Lygia to her. Clearly Pomponia Græcina is of that

opinion too, for she wrote to Acte. Tomorrow there is a feast at

Nero’s. I have requested a place for thee at the side of Lygia.”

 

“Pardon me, Caius, my hastiness. I judged that thou hadst given command

to take her for thyself or for Cæsar.”

 

“I can forgive thy hastiness; but it is more difficult to forgive rude

gestures,

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