Quo Vadis, Henryk Sienkiewicz [fox in socks read aloud .txt] 📗

“Ah,” thought Petronius, “then we shall wait for the last book.”

More than one hearing this said in spirit: “Woe to me! Petronius with time before him may return to favor and overturn even Tigellinus.” And they began again to approach him. But the end of the evening was less fortunate; for Caesar, at the moment when Petronius was taking leave, inquired suddenly, with blinking eyes and a face at once glad and malicious⁠—

“But why did not Vinicius come?”

Had Petronius been sure that Vinicius and Lygia were beyond the gates of the city, he would have answered, “With thy permission he has married and gone.” But seeing Nero’s strange smile, he answered⁠—

“Thy invitation, divinity, did not find him at home.”

“Say to Vinicius that I shall be glad to see him,” answered Nero, “and tell him from me not to neglect the games in which Christians will appear.”

These words alarmed Petronius. It seemed to him that they related to Lygia directly. Sitting in his litter, he gave command to bear him home still more quickly than in the morning. That, however, was not easy. Before the house of Tiberius stood a crowd dense and noisy, drunk as before, though not singing and dancing, but, as it were, excited. From afar came certain shouts which Petronius could not understand at once, but which rose and grew till at last they were one savage roar⁠—

“To the lions with Christians!”

Rich litters of courtiers pushed through the howling rabble. From the depth of burnt streets new crowds rushed forth continually; these, hearing the cry, repeated it. News passed from mouth to mouth that the pursuit had continued from the forenoon, that a multitude of incendiaries were seized; and immediately along the newly cleared and the old streets, through alleys lying among ruins around the Palatine, over all the hills and gardens were heard through the length and breadth of Rome shouts of swelling rage⁠—

“To the lions with Christians!”

“Herd!” repeated Petronius, with contempt; “a people worthy of Caesar!” And he began to think that a society resting on superior force, on cruelty of which even barbarians had no conception, on crimes and mad profligacy, could not endure. Rome ruled the world, but was also its ulcer. The odor of a corpse was rising from it. Over its decaying life the shadow of death was descending. More than once this had been mentioned even among the Augustians, but never before had Petronius had a clearer view of this truth that the laureled chariot on which Rome stood in the form of a triumphator, and which dragged behind a chained herd of nations, was going to the precipice. The life of that world-ruling city seemed to him a kind of mad dance, an orgy, which must end. He saw then that the Christians alone had a new basis of life; but he judged that soon there would not remain a trace of the Christians. And what then?

The mad dance would continue under Nero; and if Nero disappeared, another would be found of the same kind or worse, for with such a people and such patricians there was no reason to find a better leader. There would be a new orgy, and moreover a fouler and a viler one.

But the orgy could not last forever, and there would be need of sleep when it was over, even because of simple exhaustion.

While thinking of this, Petronius felt immensely wearied. Was it worthwhile to live, and live in uncertainty, with no purpose but to look at such a society? The genius of death was not less beautiful than the genius of sleep, and he also had wings at his shoulders.

The litter stopped before the arbiter’s door, which was opened that instant by the watchful keeper.

“Has the noble Vinicius returned?” inquired Petronius.

“Yes, lord, a moment ago,” replied the slave.

“He has not rescued her,” thought Petronius. And casting aside his toga, he ran into the atrium. Vinicius was sitting on a stool; his head bent almost to his knees with his hands on his head; but at the sound of steps he raised his stony face, in which the eyes alone had a feverish brightness.

“Thou wert late?” asked Petronius.

“Yes; they seized her before midday.”

A moment of silence followed.

“Hast thou seen her?”

“Yes.”

“Where is she?”

“In the Mamertine prison.”

Petronius trembled and looked at Vinicius with an inquiring glance. The latter understood.

“No,” said he. “She was not thrust down to the Tullianum19 nor even to the middle prison. I paid the guard to give her his own room. Ursus took his place at the threshold and is guarding her.”

“Why did Ursus not defend her?”

“They sent fifty pretorians, and Linus forbade him.”

“But Linus?”

“Linus is dying; therefore they did not seize him.”

“What is thy intention?”

“To save her or die with her. I too believe in Christ.”

Vinicius spoke with apparent calmness; but there was such despair in his voice that the heart of Petronius quivered from pure pity.

“I understand thee,” said he; “but how dost thou think to save her?”

“I paid the guards highly, first to shield her from indignity, and second not to hinder her flight.”

“When can that happen?”

“They answered that they could not give her to me at once, as they feared responsibility. When the prison will be filled with a multitude of people, and when the tally of prisoners is confused, they will deliver her. But that is a desperate thing! Do thou save her, and me first! Thou art a friend of Caesar. He himself gave her to me. Go to him and save me!”

Petronius, instead of answering, called a slave, and, commanding him to bring two dark mantles and two swords, turned to Vinicius⁠—

“On the way I will tell thee,” said he. “Meanwhile take the mantle and weapon, and we will go to the prison. There give the guards a hundred thousand sestertia; give them twice and five times more, if they will free Lygia at once. Otherwise it will be too late.”

“Let us go,”