Darkness and Dawn; Or, Scenes in the Days of Nero. An Historic Tale

by F. W. Farrar

  CHAPTER XVI

  _EVENTS IN THE VILLA POLLUX_

  ‘Who dares, who dares, In purity of manhood stand upright And say “This man’s a flatterer”? If one be, So are they all ... the learned pate Ducks to the golden fool.’

  _Timon of Athens_, iv. 3.

  More and more luxurious and irregular became the amusements of theVilla Pollux. Paganism is protected from complete exposure by theenormity of its own vices. To show the divine reformation wrought byChristianity it must suffice that, once for all, the Apostle of theGentiles seized heathendom by the hair, and branded indelibly on herforehead the stigma of her shame.

  Leaving altogether on one side the darker aspects of the life towhich Nero and his boon companions now abandoned themselves, neithershall we dwell much upon

  ‘Their gorgeous gluttonies and sumptuous feasts On citron table and Atlantic stone.’

  If the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of lifecould have brought to Nero and Otho any happiness, they might havebeen happy. They could lift to their lips the cup of pleasure crownedto the brim. They soon found it to be an envenomed goblet, sparklingwith the wine of demons. The rage of luxury, the insanity of egotism,the abandonment to every form of self-indulgence, served only toplunge them into deeper lassitude, and, last of all, into moreirretrievable disgust. For, though men have bodies, they still arespirits, and when their bodies have command over their spirits, theyonly become a lower kind of beast.

  To Nero, while he was yet a boy, had been offered all that carnalminds think the highest boons. The ancient philosophers used todiscuss the question, ‘Whether any one would still remain perfectlyvirtuous if he were endowed with the ring of Gyges, which had thepower to make a man invisible.’ To Nero had been given alike thering of Gyges and the lamp of Aladdin. While he was still youngand beautiful, and not ungifted, all that was fell and foul in theseductions of the Palace and the Amphitheatre assailed his feeblenature. It was hardly strange that his whole being gave way andhe became a prodigy of wickedness. At heart, perhaps, he was notessentially worse than thousands of youths have been, but his crimes,unchecked by any limitations of law or of resources, were enactedunder the glare of publicity, on the world’s loftiest stage.

  Nor must it be forgotten that he saw and enjoyed all the best, theloveliest, the most intoxicating that could be devised by an epochwhich strove madly after pleasure. Thus, when Paris and Aliturus cameto the villa, the guests saw in those two actors the most perfectgrace set off by the highest advantages, and trained for years by themost artistic skill. They represented the finished result of all thatthe world could produce in seductive art. Such actors, originallyselected for their beauty and genius, made it the effort of theirlives to express by the poetry of movement every burning passionand soft desire which can agitate the breast. Their rhythmic action,their mute music, their inimitable grace of motion in the dance,brought home to the spectator each scene which they impersonated morepowerfully than description, or painting, or sculpture. Carried awayby the glamour of involuntary delusion, the gazers seemed to seebefore them every incident which they chose to represent. Nothing wasneglected which seemed likely to add to the pleasure of the audience.The rewards of success were splendid--wealth, popularity, applausefrom numberless spectators, the passionate admiration of society, thepartiality even of emperors and empresses, and all the power whichsuch influence bestowed. A successful mimic actor, when he sprang onthe stage in his glittering and close-fitting dress, knew that if hecould once exercise on the multitude his potent spell he might easilybecome the favourite of the rulers of the world, as Bathyllus wasof Mæcenas, and Mnester of Caligula, and another Paris was of theEmpress Domitia.

  Paris was a Greek, and his face was a perfect example of the fineGreek ideal, faultless in its lines and youthful contour. Alituruswas by birth a Jew, and was endowed with the splendid beauty whichstill makes some young Arabs the types of perfect manhood. Both ofthem danced after supper on the day which succeeded their arrival,and it was hard to say which of them excelled the other.[37]

  First Paris danced, in his fleshings of the softest Canusian wool,dyed a light red. His dress revealed the perfect outline of a figurethat united fineness with strength. He represented in pantomimicdance the scene of Achilles in the island of Scyros. He brought everyincident and person before their eyes--the virgins as they spun inthe palace of their father, Lycomedes; the fair youth concealed as avirgin in the midst of them, and called Pyrrha from his golden locks;the maiden Deidamia, whom he loved; the eager summons of Ulyssesat his gate; the ear-shattering trumpet of Diomedes; the presentsbrought by the disguised ambassadors; the young warrior betrayinghimself by the eagerness with which he turns from jewels andornaments to nodding helmet and bright cuirass; the doffing of hisfeminine apparel; the leaping forth in his gleaming panoply. Nothingcould be more marvellous than the whole impersonation. So vivid wasthe illusion that the guests of Nero could hardly believe that theyhad seen but one young man before them, and not a company of variedcharacters.

  Yet hardly less subtle was the kindling of the imagination whenAliturus ‘danced,’ as it was called, the ‘Death of Hector’ in thetragic style which had first been introduced by the celebratedBathyllus of Alexandria. They seemed to see the hero bid farewell tohis Andromache, and go bounding forth to meet the foe; to see enactedbefore them the flight of Hector; the deceitful spectre of Deiphobus;the combat; the dying prophecy; the corpse of the gallant Trojandragged round the walls of Troy; Priam and Hecuba tearing their greylocks. They seemed to hear the wild wail of Andromache, the tenderplaint of Helen, the frenzied utterances of Cassandra; and when thescene ended there was not one of them who was not thrilled throughand through with pity, with terror, with admiration.

  These scenes were innocent and not ignoble, but softer and morevoluptuous impersonations followed; for when another and less knownactor named Hylas--painted blue, and dragging a fish’s tail behindhim--had acted the part of the sea-god Glaucus, to rest the two chiefperformers, then Paris set forth the story of Ariadne and Bacchus;and Aliturus sank to yet lower depths in dancing the favouritepantomime of Leda.

  Such were among the amusements of Nero’s evenings, and part of thepleasure consisted in knowing that he and his guests were enjoying attheir leisure a near view of the unequalled genius which enrapturedthe shouting myriads of Rome when witnessed from a distance afterlong hours of waiting to secure a place. Further, they had theadvantage of watching the speaking faces of the mimists, whichin the theatre were hidden by a mask. It is needless to add thatNero rewarded with immense donations the artists whose skill heso passionately admired. And yet for Paris it had been happier if,instead of dazzling the multitude, he had remained the humble slaveof Domitia. For in later days Nero, envying him the tumults ofapplause he won, tried to emulate his skill. Paris did his best toteach him, but the attempt was hopeless. Nothing could then make theobese form of the Emperor graceful, or his thin legs agile. And sincehe could not rival him, he made the poor wretch pay the penalty byputting him to death.

  But no such dread foreboding was in the happy actor’s mind as hewitnessed the spell which he cast over the minds of his audience--andaudience it might fitly be called, for the actor had _spoken to_ themin the eloquence of rhythmic gesture.

  The conversation turned naturally on the art of dancing.

  ‘Paris,’ said Petronius, whose æsthetic sympathies had been intenselygratified, ‘I know not whether you missed the usual accompanimentsof pipes and flutes, and still more the thundering reverberationsof applause from the enraptured myriads, but I never heard you togreater advantage.’

  ‘Heard me? _Saw_ me, you mean,’ said Paris, with a pleasant smile.

  ‘No!’ said Petronius, ‘we have heard, not seen, you. You have notspoken a word, but your feet and your hands have surpassed theeloquence even of lips “tinct with Hyblean honeycombs.”’

  ‘You remind me of what De
metrius the Cynic said to me,’ answeredParis.

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘Do not think me vain if I tell the story,’ said the actor. ‘I do nottell it in my own honour, but only for the glory of my art. Demetriushad been railing and snarling at us poor pantomimes, and saidthat the only pleasure of the spectators was derived, not from ourdancing, but from the flutes and songs. I asked him to let me showhim a specimen of what I could do.’

  ‘Happy Demetrius!’ said Lucan.

  ‘He was fair-minded enough to consent, and I danced to him the storyof Mars and Venus. I tried to bring before him their love, theirbetrayal by Helios, the rage and jealousy of Vulcan, their capturein the golden net, their confusion, the entreaties of Venus, theintercession of the gods. Demetrius was fairly conquered, and he saidto me, “Fellow!” (you observe that he was anything but civil!), “Idon’t merely see but I hear your acting, and you seem to me to speakwith your very hands.”’

  ‘Well done, Demetrius!’ said Otho. ‘And perhaps you don’t know,Paris, that a Greek writer, Lesbonax, calls you, not philosophers,but _cheirosophers_--hand-wise.’

  ‘I can cap your story, Paris,’ said Nero. ‘The other day a barbariannobleman from Pontus came to me on some foreign business and broughtme some splendid presents. When he left I asked him if I could doanything for him. “Yes,” he said. “Will you make me a present of thebeautiful dancer whom I saw in the theatre?” That was you, Paris;and of course I told him that you were much too precious to be givenaway, and that, if I did, we should have Rome in an uproar. “But,”I said, “of what possible use would he be to you?” “He can interpretthings without words,” he replied; “and I want some one to explain mywishes to my barbarous neighbours”!’

  ‘Nobody has said any of these fine things about _me_,’ remarkedAliturus, ruefully.

  ‘Well, I will tell you a compliment paid to you, Aliturus,’ saidPetronius. ‘Another barbarian, who came to me with a letter ofintroduction from the Proconsul of Africa, saw you act a scene whichinvolved five impersonations. He was amazed at your versatility.“That man,” he observed, “has but one body, but he has many minds.”’

  ‘Thank you, kind Petronius!’ said Aliturus.

  ‘But now tell us,’ asked Nero, ‘whether in acting you really feel theemotions you express.’

  ‘When the character is new to us we feel them intensely,’ said theJewish pantomime. ‘Have you never heard, Cæsar, what happened toPylades, when he played the part of the mad hero of “Ajax”? It seemedas if he really went mad with the hero whom he personated. He sprangon one of the attendants who was beating time to the music, and rentoff his robe. The actor who represented the victorious Ulysses stoodby him in triumph, and Pylades, tearing a heavy flute from the handsof one of the choraulæ, dealt Ulysses so violent a blow on the headthat he broke the flute and would have broken the head too, if theactor had not been protected by his helmet. He even hurled javelinsat Augustus himself. The audience in the theatre was so powerfullyaffected by the passion of the scene that they went mad too, andleapt up from their seats and shouted, and flung off their garments.Finally, Pylades, unconscious of what he was doing, walked down fromthe stage to the orchestra and took his seat between two Consulars,who were rather alarmed lest Ajax should flagellate them with hisscourge as he had been flagellating the cattle which in his madnesshe took for Greeks.’

  ‘A curious and interesting anecdote, my Aliturus,’ said Petronius;‘but Paris has not yet told us whether he misses the multitudinousapplause of Rome.’

  ‘All Rome is here,’ said Paris with a bow to the Emperor. ‘We actorsneed nothing but the sunshine of approval, and did not the sun, evenbefore it rose above the horizon, bathe Nero in its rays?’

  ‘So my nurses have told me,’ said Nero.

  ‘Trust an actor to pay a compliment,’ whispered Vatinius toTigellinus.

  ‘Or a poet either,’ said Tigellinus, with a glance at Lucan.

  ‘Or an adventurer and a parasite either,’ returned the irascibleSpaniard, who had overheard the innuendo.

  ‘Now, if I am to be the _arbiter elegantiarum_, I will allow noquarrels,’ said Petronius. ‘And I at least am grateful to Parisand Aliturus, and mean to show my gratitude by a compliment. Don’tclass me among the poets who recite in the dog-days, for my littlepoem--written while Paris was dancing “Achilles”--is only four lineslong. Spare my blushes and let Lucan--as he is a poet--read it.’

  ‘Don’t let him read it,’ whispered Tigellinus; ‘he will read it badlyon purpose.’

  But Petronius handed his little waxen tablets to Lucan, who, with aglance of disdain at Tigellinus, read with perfect expression thefour celebrated lines:

  ‘He fights, plays, revels, loves and whirls, and stands, Speaks with mute eloquence and rhythmic hands. Silence is voiceful through each varying part, In each fair feature--’tis the crown of Art.’[38]

  A loud exclamation of ‘_Euge!_’ and ‘?????!’ burst from the hearerswhen Lucan had read these admirable lines; and the two actors repaidthe poet by the most gracious of their bows and smiles. Nor did theyconfine their gratitude to smiles, but gave further specimens ofsome of the laughable dances which were in vogue, such as ‘the owl’and ‘the grimace,’ ending with a spectacle at once graceful andinnocent--namely, the lovely flower-dance with its refrain of

  ‘Where are my roses, where my violets, where my parsleys fair?’

  They went to bed that night each of them the happy possessor oftwelve thousand sesterces. When Agrippina, a month later, heard this,she reproached Nero for his gross extravagance.

  ‘What did I give them?’ he asked.

  ‘You paid them twelve thousand sesterces each for a night’s dancing.’

  ‘Did I?’ said Nero, glad to show his defiance. ‘I never knew beforethat I was so mean;’ and he immediately ordered the sum to be doubled.