Chapter VII
ONCE the highest heads in Rome inclined before Acte, the former favoriteof Nero. But even at that period she showed no desire to interfere inpublic questions, and if on any occasion she used her influence overthe young ruler, it was only to implore mercy for some one. Quiet andunassuming, she won the gratitude of many, and made no one her enemy.Even Octavia was unable to hate her. To those who envied her she seemedexceedingly harmless. It was known that she continued to love Nero witha sad and pained love, which lived not in hope, but only in memories ofthe time in which that Nero was not only younger and loving, but better.It was known that she could not tear her thoughts and soul from thosememories, but expected nothing; since there was no real fear that Nerowould return to her, she was looked upon as a person wholly inoffensive,and hence was left in peace. Poppaea considered her merely as a quietservant, so harmless that she did not even try to drive her from thepalace.
But since Caesar had loved her once and dropped her without offence in aquiet and to some extent friendly manner, a certain respect was retainedfor her. Nero, when he had freed her, let her live in the palace, andgave her special apartments with a few servants. And as in their timePallas and Narcissus, though freedmen of Claudius, not only satat feasts with Claudius, but also held places of honor as powerfulministers, so she too was invited at times to Caesar's table. This wasdone perhaps because her beautiful form was a real ornament to afeast. Caesar for that matter had long since ceased to count with anyappearances in his choice of company. At his table the most variedmedley of people of every position and calling found places. Among themwere senators, but mainly those who were content to be jesters as well.There were patricians, old and young, eager for luxury, excess, andenjoyment. There were women with great names, who did not hesitate toput on a yellow wig of an evening and seek adventures on dark streetsfor amusement's sake. There were also high officials, and priests whoat full goblets were willing to jeer at their own gods. At the side ofthese was a rabble of every sort: singers, mimes, musicians, dancers ofboth sexes; poets who, while declaiming, were thinking of thesesterces which might fall to them for praise of Caesar's verses; hungryphilosophers following the dishes with eager eyes; finally, notedcharioteers, tricksters, miracle-wrights, tale-tellers, jesters, and themost varied adventurers brought through fashion or folly to a few days'notoriety. Among these were not lacking even men who covered with longhair their ears pierced in sign of slavery.
The most noted sat directly at the tables; the lesser served to amusein time of eating, and waited for the moment in which the servants wouldpermit them to rush at the remnants of food and drink. Guests of thissort were furnished by Tigellinus, Vatinius, and Vitelius; for theseguests they were forced more than once to find clothing befitting thechambers of Caesar, who, however, liked their society, through feelingmost free in it. The luxury of the court gilded everything, andcovered all things with glitter. High and low, the descendants of greatfamilies, and the needy from the pavements of the city, great artists,and vile scrapings of talent, thronged to the palace to sate theirdazzled eyes with a splendor almost surpassing human estimate, and toapproach the giver of every favor, wealth, and property,--whose singleglance might abase, it is true, but might also exalt beyond measure.
That day Lygia too had to take part in such a feast. Fear, uncertainty,and a dazed feeling, not to be wondered at after the sudden change, werestruggling in her with a wish to resist. She feared Nero; she feared thepeople and the palace whose uproar deprived her of presence of mind;she feared the feasts of whose shamelessness she had heard from Aulus,Pomponia Graecina, and their friends. Though young, she was not withoutknowledge, for knowledge of evil in those times reached even children'sears early. She knew, therefore, that ruin was threatening her in thepalace. Pomponia, moreover, had warned her of this at the moment ofparting. But having a youthful spirit, unacquainted with corruption, andconfessing a lofty faith, implanted in her by her foster mother, shehad promised to defend herself against that ruin; she had promisedher mother, herself and also that Divine Teacher in whom she not onlybelieved, but whom she had come to love with her half-childlike heartfor the sweetness of his doctrine, the bitterness of his death, and theglory of his resurrection.
She was confident too that now neither Aulus nor Pomponia would beanswerable for her actions; she was thinking therefore whether it wouldnot be better to resist and not go to the feast. On the one hand fearand alarm spoke audibly in her soul; on the other the wish rose in herto show courage in suffering, in exposure to torture and death. TheDivine Teacher had commanded to act thus. He had given the examplehimself. Pomponia had told her that the most earnest among the adherentsdesire with all their souls such a test, and pray for it. And Lygia,when still in the house of Aulus, had been mastered at moments by asimilar desire. She had seen herself as a martyr, with wounds on herfeet and hands, white as snow, beautiful with a beauty not of earth, andborne by equally white angels into the azure sky; and her imaginationadmired such a vision. There was in it much childish brooding, butthere was in it also something of delight in herself, which Pomponia hadreprimanded. But now, when opposition to Caesar's will might draw afterit some terrible punishment, and the martyrdom scene of imaginationbecome a reality, there was added to the beautiful visions and to thedelight a kind of curiosity mingled with dread, as to how they wouldpunish her, and what kind of torments they would provide. And her soul,half childish yet, was hesitating on two sides. But Acte, hearing ofthese hesitations, looked at her with astonishment as if the maidenwere talking in a fever. To oppose Caesar's will, expose oneself from thefirst moment to his anger? To act thus one would need to be a child thatknows not what it says. From Lygia's own words it appears that she is,properly speaking, not really a hostage, but a maiden forgotten by herown people. No law of nations protects her; and even if it did, Caesaris powerful enough to trample on it in a moment of anger. It has pleasedCaesar to take her, and he will dispose of her. Thenceforth she is at hiswill, above which there is not another on earth.
"So it is," continued Acte. "I too have read the letters of Paul ofTarsus, and I know that above the earth is God, and the Son of God, whorose from the dead; but on the earth there is only Caesar. Think of this,Lygia. I know too that thy doctrine does not permit thee to be whatI was, and that to you as to the Stoics,--of whom Epictetus has toldme,--when it comes to a choice between shame and death, it is permittedto choose only death. But canst thou say that death awaits thee and notshame too? Hast thou heard of the daughter of Sejanus, a young maiden,who at command of Tiberius had to pass through shame before her death,so as to respect a law which prohibits the punishment of virgins withdeath? Lygia, Lygia, do not irritate Caesar. If the decisive moment comeswhen thou must choose between disgrace and death, thou wilt act as thyfaith commands; but seek not destruction thyself, and do not irritatefor a trivial cause an earthly and at the same time a cruel divinity."
Acte spoke with great compassion, and even with enthusiasm; and beinga little short-sighted, she pushed her sweet face up to Lygia's as ifwishing to see surely the effect of her words.
But Lygia threw her arms around Acte's neck with childish trustfulnessand said,--"Thou art kind, Acte."
Acte, pleased by the praise and confidence, pressed her to her heart;and then disengaging herself from the arms of the maiden, answered,--"Myhappiness has passed and my joy is gone, but I am not wicked." Then shebegan to walk with quick steps through the room and to speak to herself,as if in despair.
"No! And he was not wicked. He thought himself good at that time, and hewished to be good. I know that best. All his change came later, when heceased to love. Others made him what he is--yes, others--and Poppaea."
Here her eyelids filled with tears. Lygia followed her for some timewith her blue eyes, and asked at last,--"Art thou sorry for him, Acte?"
"I am sorry for him!" answered the Grecian, with a low voice. Andagain she began to walk, her hands clinched as if in pain, and her facewithout hope.
"Dost
thou love him yet, Acte?" asked Lygia, timidly.
"I love him."
And after a while she added,--"No one loves him but me."
Silence followed, during which Acte strove to recover her calmness,disturbed by memories; and when at length her face resumed its usuallook of calm sorrow, she said,--
"Let us speak of thee, Lygia. Do not even think of opposing Caesar; thatwould be madness. And be calm. I know this house well, and I judge thaton Caesar's part nothing threatens thee. If Nero had given commandto take thee away for himself, he would not have brought thee to thePalatine. Here Poppaea rules; and Nero, since she bore him a daughter, ismore than ever under her influence. No, Nero gave command, it is true,that thou shouldst be at the feast, but he has not seen thee yet; hehas not inquired about thee, hence he does not care about thee. Maybe hetook thee from Aulus and Pomponia only through anger at them. Petroniuswrote me to have care of thee; and since Pomponia too wrote, as thouknowest, maybe they had an understanding. Maybe he did that at herrequest. If this be true, if he at the request of Pomponia will occupyhimself with thee, nothing threatens thee; and who knows if Nero may notsend thee back to Aulus at his persuasion? I know not whether Nero loveshim over much, but I know that rarely has he the courage to be of anopinion opposite to his."
"Ah, Acte!" answered Lygia; "Petronius was with us before they tookme, and my mother was convinced that Nero demanded my surrender at hisinstigation."
"That would be bad," said Acte. But she stopped for a while, and thensaid,--"Perhaps Petronius only said, in Nero's presence at some supper,that he saw a hostage of the Lygians at Aulus's, and Nero, who isjealous of his own power, demanded thee only because hostages belong toCaesar. But he does not like Aulus and Pomponia. No! it does not seem tome that if Petronius wished to take thee from Aulus he would use such amethod. I do not know whether Petronius is better than others of Caesar'scourt, but he is different. Maybe too thou wilt find some one else whowould be willing to intercede for thee. Hast thou not seen at Aulus'ssome one who is near Caesar?"
"I have seen Vespasian and Titus."
"Caesar does not like them."
"And Seneca."
"If Seneca advised something, that would be enough to make Nero actotherwise."
The bright face of Lygia was covered with a blush. "And Vinicius-"
"I do not know him."
"He is a relative of Petronius, and returned not long since fromArmenia."
"Dost thou think that Nero likes him?"
"All like Vinicius."
"And would he intercede for thee?"
"He would."
Acte smiled tenderly, and said, "Then thou wilt see him surely at thefeast. Thou must be there, first, because thou must,--only such a childas thou could think otherwise. Second, if thou wish to return tothe house of Aulus, thou wilt find means of beseeching Petronius andVinicius to gain for thee by their influence the right to return. Ifthey were here, both would tell thee as I do, that it would be madnessand ruin to try resistance. Caesar might not notice thy absence, it istrue; but if he noticed it and thought that thou hadst the daring tooppose his will, here would be no salvation for thee. Go, Lygia! Dostthou hear the noise in the palace? The sun is near setting; guests willbegin to arrive soon."
"Thou art right," answered Lygia, "and I will follow thy advice."
How much desire to see Vinicius and Petronius there was in this resolve,how much of woman's curiosity there was to see such a feast once inlife, and to see at it Caesar, the court, the renowned Poppaea and otherbeauties, and all that unheard-of splendor, of which wonders werenarrated in Rome, Lygia could not give account to herself of acertainty. But Acte was right, and Lygia felt this distinctly. There wasneed to go; therefore, when necessity and simple reason supported thehidden temptation, she ceased to hesitate.
Acte conducted her to her own unctorium to anoint and dress her; andthough there was no lack of slave women in Caesar's house, and Acte hadenough of them for her personal service, still, through sympathy for themaiden whose beauty and innocence had caught her heart, she resolved todress her herself. It became clear at once that in the young Grecian, inspite of her sadness and her perusal of the letters of Paul of Tarsus,there was yet much of the ancient Hellenic spirit, to which physicalbeauty spoke with more eloquence than aught else on earth. When shehad undressed Lygia, she could not restrain an exclamation of wonder atsight of her form, at once slender and full, created, as it were, frompearl and roses; and stepping back a few paces, she looked with delighton that matchless, spring-like form.
"Lygia," exclaimed she at last, "thou art a hundred times more beautifulthan Poppaea!"
But, reared in the strict house of Pomponia, where modesty was observed,even when women were by themselves, the maiden, wonderful as a wonderfuldream, harmonious as a work of Praxiteles or as a song, stood alarmed,blushing from modesty, with knees pressed together, with her hands onher bosom, and downcast eyes. At last, raising her arms with suddenmovement, she removed the pins which held her hair, and in one moment,with one shake of her head, she covered herself with it as with amantle.
Acte, approaching her and touching her dark tresses, said,--
"Oh, what hair thou hast! I will not sprinkle golden powder on it; itgleams of itself in one place and another with gold, where it waves.I will add, perhaps, barely a sprinkle here and there; but lightly,lightly, as if a sun ray had freshened it. Wonderful must thy Lygiancountry be where such maidens are born!
"I do not remember it," answered Lygia; "but Ursus has told me that withus it is forests, forests, and forests."
"But flowers bloom in those forests," said Acte, dipping her hand in avase filled with verbena, and moistening Lygia's hair with it. When shehad finished this work, Acte anointed her body lightly with odoriferousoils from Arabia, and then dressed her in a soft gold-colored tunicwithout sleeves, over which was to be put a snow-white peplus. But sinceshe had to dress Lygia's hair first, she put on her meanwhile a kind ofroomy dress called synthesis, and, seating her in an armchair, gave herfor a time into the hands of slave women, so as to stand at a distanceherself and follow the hairdressing. Two other slave women put onLygia's feet white sandals, embroidered with purple, fastening them toher alabaster ankles with golden lacings drawn crosswise. When atlast the hair-dressing was finished, they put a peplus on her in verybeautiful, light folds; then Acte fastened pearls to her neck, andtouching her hair at the folds with gold dust, gave command to the womento dress her, following Lygia with delighted eyes meanwhile.
But she was ready soon; and when the first litters began to appearbefore the main gate, both entered the side portico from which werevisible the chief entrance, the interior galleries, and the courtyardsurrounded by a colonnade of Numidian marble.
Gradually people passed in greater and greater numbers under the loftyarch of the entrance, over which the splendid quadrigae of Lysias seemedto bear Apollo and Diana into space. Lygia's eyes were struck by thatmagnificence, of which the modest house of Aulus could not have givenher the slightest idea. It was sunset; the last rays were falling on theyellow Numidian marble of the columns, which shone like gold in thosegleams and changed into rose color also. Among the columns, at theside of white statues of the Danaides and others, representing gods orheroes, crowds of people flowed past,--men and women; resembling statuesalso, for they were draped in togas, pepluses, and robes, falling withgrace and beauty toward the earth in soft folds, on which the rays ofthe setting sun were expiring. A gigantic Hercules, with head in thelight yet, from the breast down sunk in shadow cast by the columns,looked from above on that throng. Acte showed Lygia senators inwide-bordered togas, in colored tunics, in sandals with crescents onthem, and knights, and famed artists; she showed her Roman ladies, inRoman, in Grecian, in fantastic Oriental costume, with hair dressed intowers or pyramids, or dressed like that of the statues of goddesses,low on the head, and adorned with flowers. Many men and women did Actecall by name, adding to their names histories, brief and sometimesterrible, which pier
ced Lygia with fear, amazement, and wonder. For herthis was a strange world, whose beauty intoxicated her eyes, but whosecontrasts her girlish understanding could not grasp. In those twilightsof the sky, in those rows of motionless columns vanishing in thedistance, and in those statuesque people, there was a certain loftyrepose. It seemed that in the midst of those marbles of simple linesdemigods might live free of care, at peace and in happiness. Meanwhilethe low voice of Acte disclosed, time after time, a new and dreadfulsecret of that palace and those people. See, there at a distance is thecovered portico on whose columns and floor are still visible red stainsfrom the blood with which Caligula sprinkled the white marble when hefell beneath the knife of Cassius Chaerea; there his wife was slain;there his child was dashed against a stone; under that wing is thedungeon in which the younger Drusus gnawed his hands from hunger; therethe elder Drusus was poisoned; there Gemellus quivered in terror, andClaudius in convulsions; there Germanicus suffered,--everywhere thosewalls had heard the groans and death-rattle of the dying; and thosepeople hurrying now to the feast in togas, in colored tunics, inflowers, and in jewels, may be the condemned of to-morrow; on more thanone face, perhaps, a smile conceals terror, alarm, the uncertainty ofthe next day; perhaps feverishness, greed, envy are gnawing at thismoment into the hearts of those crowned demigods, who in appearanceare free of care. Lygia's frightened thoughts could not keep pace withActe's words; and when that wonderful world attracted her eyes withincreasing force, her heart contracted within her from fear, and inher soul she struggled with an immense, inexpressible yearning for thebeloved Pomponia Graecina, and the calm house of Aulus, in which love,and not crime, was the ruling power.
Meanwhile new waves of guests were flowing in from the Vicus Apollinis.From beyond the gates came the uproar and shouts of clients, escortingtheir patrons. The courtyard and the colonnades were swarming with themultitude of Caesar's slaves, of both sexes, small boys, and pretoriansoldiers, who kept guard in the palace. Here and there among dark orswarthy visages was the black face of a Numidian, in a feathered helmet,and with large gold rings in his ears. Some were bearing lutes andcitharas, hand lamps of gold, silver, and bronze, and bunches offlowers, reared artificially despite the late autumn season. Louder andlouder the sound of conversation was mingled with the splashing of thefountain, the rosy streams of which fell from above on the marble andwere broken, as if in sobs.
Acte had stopped her narration; but Lygia gazed at the throng, as ifsearching for some one. All at once her face was covered with a blush,and from among the columns came forth Vinicius with Petronius. Theywent to the great triclinium, beautiful, calm, like white gods, in theirtogas. It seemed to Lygia, when she saw those two known and friendlyfaces among strange people, and especially when she saw Vinicius, thata great weight had fallen from her heart. She felt less alone. Thatmeasureless yearning for Pomponia and the house of Aulus, which hadbroken out in her a little while before, ceased at once to be painful.The desire to see Vinicius and to talk with him drowned in her othervoices. In vain did she remember all the evil which she had heard of thehouse of Caesar, the words of Acte, the warnings of Pomponia; in spite ofthose words and warnings, she felt all at once that not only must she beat that feast, but that she wished to be there. At the thought that soonshe would hear that dear and pleasant voice, which had spoken of love toher and of happiness worthy of the gods, and which was sounding like asong in her ears yet, delight seized her straightway.
But the next moment she feared that delight. It seemed to her that shewould be false to the pure teaching in which she had been reared, falseto Pomponia, and false to herself. It is one thing to go by constraint,and another to delight in such a necessity. She felt guilty, unworthy,and ruined.
Despair swept her away, and she wanted to weep. Had she been alone, shewould have knelt down and beaten her breast, saying, "Mea culpa! meaculpa!" Acte, taking her hand at that moment, led her through theinterior apartments to the grand triclinium, where the feast was tobe. Darkness was in her eyes, and a roaring in her ears from internalemotion; the beating of her heart stopped her breath. As in a dream, shesaw thousands of lamps gleaming on the tables and on the walls; as ina dream, she heard the shout with which the guests greeted Caesar; asthrough a mist, she saw Caesar himself. The shout deafened her, theglitter dazzled, the odors intoxicated; and, losing the remnant of herconsciousness, she was barely able to recognize Acte, who seated her atthe table and took a place at her side.
But after a while a low and known voice was heard at the other side,--"Agreeting, most beautiful of maidens on earth and of stars in heaven. Agreeting to thee, divine Callina!"
Lygia, having recovered somewhat, looked up; at her side was Vinicius.He was without a toga, for convenience and custom had enjoined to castaside the toga at feasts. His body was covered with only a sleevelessscarlet tunic embroidered in silver palms. His bare arms were ornamentedin Eastern fashion with two broad golden bands fastened above the elbow;below they were carefully stripped of hair. They were smooth, but toomuscular,--real arms of a soldier, they were made for the sword and theshield. On his head was a garland of roses. With brows joining above thenose, with splendid eyes and a dark complexion, he was the impersonationof youth and strength, as it were. To Lygia he seemed so beautifulthat though her first amazement had passed, she was barely able toanswer,--"A greeting, Marcus."
"Happy," said he, "are my eyes, which see thee; happy my ears, whichhear thy voice, dearer to me than the sound of lutes or citharas. Wereit commanded me to choose who was to rest here by my side at this feast,thou, Lygia, or Venus, I would choose thee, divine one!"
And he looked at the maiden as if he wished to sate himself with thesight of her, to burn her eyes with his eyes. His glance slipped fromher face to her neck and bare arms, fondled her shapely outlines,admired her, embraced her, devoured her; but besides desire, there wasgleaming in him happiness, admiration, and ecstasy beyond limit.
"I knew that I should see thee in Caesar's house," continued he; "butstill, when I saw thee, such delight shook my whole soul, as if ahappiness entirely unexpected had met me."
Lygia, having recovered herself and feeling that in that throng and inthat house he was the only being who was near to her, began to conversewith him, and ask about everything which she did not understand andwhich filled her with fear. Whence did he know that he would find her inCaesar's house? Why is she there? Why did Caesar take her from Pomponia?She is full of fear where she is, and wishes to return to Pomponia. Shewould die from alarm and grief were it not for the hope that Petroniusand he will intercede for her before Caesar.
Vinicius explained that he learned from Aulus himself that she had beentaken. Why she is there, he knows not. Caesar gives account to no one ofhis orders and commands. But let her not fear. He, Vinicius, is near herand will stay near her. He would rather lose his eyes than not see her;he would rather lose his life than desert her. She is his soul, andhence he will guard her as his soul. In his house he will build to her,as to a divinity, an altar on which he will offer myrrh and aloes,and in spring saffron and apple-blossoms; and since she has a dread ofCaesar's house, he promises that she shall not stay in it.
And though he spoke evasively and at times invented, truth was tobe felt in his voice, because his feelings were real. Genuine pitypossessed him, too, and her words went to his soul so thoroughly thatwhen she began to thank him and assure him that Pomponia would love himfor his goodness, and that she herself would be grateful to him allher life, he could not master his emotion, and it seemed to him thathe would never be able in life to resist her prayer. The heart began tomelt in him. Her beauty intoxicated his senses, and he desired her;but at the same time he felt that she was very dear to him, and thatin truth he might do homage to her, as to a divinity; he felt alsoirresistible need of speaking of her beauty and of his own homage. Asthe noise at the feast increased, he drew nearer to her, whispered kind,sweet words flowing from the depth of his soul, words as resonant asmusic and intoxicating as wine.
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p; And he intoxicated her. Amid those strange people he seemed to her evernearer, ever dearer, altogether true, and devoted with his whole soul.He pacified her; he promised to rescue her from the house of Caesar; hepromised not to desert her, and said that he would serve her. Besides,he had spoken before at Aulus's only in general about love and thehappiness which it can give; but now he said directly that he loved her,and that she was dear and most precious to him. Lygia heard such wordsfrom a man's lips for the first time; and as she heard them it seemedto her that something was wakening in her as from a sleep, that somespecies of happiness was embracing her in which immense delight wasmingled with immense alarm. Her cheeks began to burn, her heart to beat,her mouth opened as in wonder. She was seized with fear because she waslistening to such things, still she did not wish for any cause on earthto lose one word. At moments she dropped her eyes; then again she raisedher clear glance to Vinicius, timid and also inquiring, as if she wishedto say to him, "Speak on!" The sound of the music, the odor of flowersand of Arabian perfumes, began to daze her. In Rome it was the custom torecline at banquets, but at home Lygia occupied a place between Pomponiaand little Aulus. Now Vinicius was reclining near her, youthful,immense, in love, burning; and she, feeling the heat that issued fromhim, felt both delight and shame. A kind of sweet weakness, a kind offaintness and forgetfulness seized her; it was as if drowsiness torturedher.
But her nearness to him began to act on Vinicius also. His nostrilsdilated, like those of an Eastern steed. The beating of his heart withunusual throb was evident under his scarlet tunic; his breathing grewshort, and the expressions that fell from his lips were broken. For thefirst time, too, he was so near her. His thoughts grew disturbed; hefelt a flame in his veins which he tried in vain to quench with wine.Not wine, but her marvellous face, her bare arms, her maiden breastheaving under the golden tunic, and her form hidden in the white foldsof the peplus, intoxicated him more and more. Finally, he seized her armabove the wrist, as he had done once at Aulus's, and drawing her towardhim whispered, with trembling lips,--"I love thee, Callina,--divineone."
"Let me go, Marcus," said Lygia.
But he continued, his eyes mist-covered, "Love me, my goddess!"
But at that moment was heard the voice of Acte, who was reclining on theother side of Lygia.
"Caesar is looking at you both."
Vinicius was carried away by sudden anger at Caesar and at Acte. Herwords had broken the charm of his intoxication. To the young man evena friendly voice would have seemed repulsive at such a moment, but hejudged that Acte wished purposely to interrupt his conversation withLygia. So, raising his head and looking over the shoulder of Lygia atthe young freedwoman, he said with malice:
"The hour has passed, Acte, when thou didst recline near Caesar's sideat banquets, and they say that blindness is threatening thee; how thencanst thou see him?"
But she answered as if in sadness: "Still I see him. He, too, has shortsight, and is looking at thee through an emerald."
Everything that Nero did roused attention, even in those nearesthim; hence Vinicius was alarmed. He regained self-control, and beganimperceptibly to look toward Caesar. Lygia, who, embarrassed at thebeginning of the banquet, had seen Nero as in a mist, and afterward,occupied by the presence and conversation of Vinicius, had not looked athim at all, turned to him eyes at once curious and terrified.
Acte spoke truly. Caesar had bent over the table, half-closed one eye,and holding before the other a round polished emerald, which he used,was looking at them. For a moment his glance met Lygia's eyes, and theheart of the maiden was straitened with terror. When still a child onAulus's Sicilian estate, an old Egyptian slave had told her of dragonswhich occupied dens in the mountains, and it seemed to her now that allat once the greenish eye of such a monster was gazing at her. She caughtat Vinicius's hand as a frightened child would, and disconnected, quickimpressions pressed into her head: Was not that he, the terrible, theall-powerful? She had not seen him hitherto, and she thought that helooked differently. She had imagined some kind of ghastly face, withmalignity petrified in its features; now she saw a great head, fixed ona thick neck, terrible, it is true, but almost ridiculous, for from adistance it resembled the head of a child. A tunic of amethyst color,forbidden to ordinary mortals, cast a bluish tinge on his broad andshort face. He had dark hair, dressed, in the fashion introduced byOtho, in four curls.
He had no beard, because he had sacrificed it recently to Jove,--forwhich all Rome gave him thanks, though people whispered to each otherthat he had sacrificed it because his beard, like that of his wholefamily, was red. In his forehead, projecting strongly above hisbrows, there remained something Olympian. In his contracted brows theconsciousness of supreme power was evident; but under that forehead ofa demigod was the face of a monkey, a drunkard, and a comedian,--vain,full of changing desires, swollen with fat, notwithstanding his youth;besides, it was sickly and foul. To Lygia he seemed ominous, but aboveall repulsive.
After a while he laid down the emerald and ceased to look at her. Thenshe saw his prominent blue eyes, blinking before the excess of light,glassy, without thought, resembling the eyes of the dead.
"Is that the hostage with whom Vinicius is in love?" asked he, turningto Petronius.
"That is she," answered Petronius.
"What are her people called?"
"The Lygians."
"Does Vinicius think her beautiful?"
"Array a rotten olive trunk in the peplus of a woman, and Vinicius willdeclare it beautiful. But on thy countenance, incomparable judge, I readher sentence already. Thou hast no need to pronounce it! The sentence istrue: she is too dry, thin, a mere blossom on a slender stalk; and thou,O divine aesthete, esteemest the stalk in a woman. Thrice and four timesart thou right! The face alone does not signify. I have learned much inthy company, but even now I have not a perfect cast of the eye. But I amready to lay a wager with Tullius Senecio concerning his mistress, that,although at a feast, when all are reclining, it is difficult to judgethe whole form, thou hast said in thy mind already, 'Too narrow in thehips.'"
"Too narrow in the hips," answered Nero, blinking.
On Petronius's lips appeared a scarcely perceptible smile; but TulliusSenecio, who till that moment was occupied in conversing with Vestinius,or rather in reviling dreams, while Vestinius believed in them, turnedto Petronius, and though he had not the least idea touching that ofwhich they were talking, he said,--"Thou art mistaken! I hold withCaesar."
"Very well," answered Petronius. "I have just maintained that thou hasta glimmer of understanding, but Caesar insists that thou art an ass pureand simple."
"Habet!" said Caesar, laughing, and turning down the thumb, as was donein the Circus, in sign that the gladiator had received a blow and was tobe finished.
But Vestinius, thinking that the question was of dreams,exclaimed,--"But I believe in dreams, and Seneca told me on a time thathe believes too."
"Last night I dreamt that I had become a vestal virgin," said CalviaCrispinilla, bending over the table.
At this Nero clapped his hands, other followed, and in a moment clappingof hands was heard all around,--for Crispinilla had been divorceda number of times, and was known throughout Rome for her fabulousdebauchery.
But she, not disconcerted in the least, said,--"Well! They are all oldand ugly. Rubria alone has a human semblance, and so there would be twoof us, though Rubria gets freckles in summer."
"But admit, purest Calvia," said Petronius, "that thou couldst become avestal only in dreams."
"But if Caesar commanded?"
"I should believe that even the most impossible dreams might come true."
"But they do come true," said Vestinius. "I understand those who do notbelieve in the gods, but how is it possible not to believe in dreams?"
"But predictions?" inquired Nero. "It was predicted once to me, thatRome would cease to exist, and that I should rule the whole Orient."
"Predictions and dreams are connected," said Vestinius. "Onc
e a certainproconsul, a great disbeliever, sent a slave to the temple of Mopsuswith a sealed letter which he would not let any one open; he did thisto try if the god could answer the question contained in the letter. Theslave slept a night in the temple to have a prophetic dream; he returnedthen and said: 'I saw a youth in my dreams; he was as bright as the sun,and spoke only one word, "Black."' The proconsul, when he heard this,grew pale, and turning to his guests, disbelievers like himself, said:'Do ye know what was in the letter?'" Here Vestinius stopped, and,raising his goblet with wine, began to drink.
"What was in the letter?" asked Senecio.
"In the letter was the question: 'What is the color of the bull which Iam to sacrifice: white or black?'"
But the interest roused by the narrative was interrupted by Vitelius,who, drunk when he came to the feast, burst forth on a sudden andwithout cause in senseless laughter.
"What is that keg of tallow laughing at?" asked Nero.
"Laughter distinguishes men from animals," said Petronius, "and he hasno other proof that he is not a wild boar."
Vitelius stopped half-way in his laughter, and smacking his lips,shining from fat and sauces, looked at those present with as muchastonishment as if he had never seen them before; then he raised his twohands, which were like cushions, and said in a hoarse voice,--"The ringof a knight has fallen from my finger, and it was inherited from myfather."
"Who was a tailor," added Nero.
But Vitelius burst forth again in unexpected laughter, and began tosearch for his ring in the peplus of Calvia Crispinilla.
Hereupon Vestinius fell to imitating the cries of a frightened woman.Nigidia, a friend of Calvia,--a young widow with the face of a childand the eyes of a wanton,--said aloud,--"He is seeking what he has notlost."
"And which will be useless to him if he finds it," finished the poetLucan.
The feast grew more animated. Crowds of slaves bore around successivecourses; from great vases filled with snow and garlanded withivy, smaller vessels with various kinds of wine were brought forthunceasingly. All drank freely. On the guests, roses fell from theceiling at intervals.
Petronius entreated Nero to dignify the feast with his song before theguests drank too deeply. A chorus of voices supported his words, butNero refused at first. It was not a question of courage alone, he said,though that failed him always. The gods knew what efforts every successcost him. He did not avoid them, however, for it was needful to dosomething for art; and besides, if Apollo had gifted him with a certainvoice, it was not proper to let divine gifts be wasted. He understood,even, that it was his duty to the State not to let them be wasted. Butthat day he was really hoarse. In the night he had placed leaden weightson his chest, but that had not helped in any way. He was thinking evento go to Antium, to breathe the sea air.
Lucan implored him in the name of art and humanity. All knew that thedivine poet and singer had composed a new hymn to Venus, compared withwhich Lucretius's hymn was as the howl of a yearling wolf. Let thatfeast be a genuine feast. So kind a ruler should not cause such torturesto his subjects. "Be not cruel, O Caesar!"
"Be not cruel!" repeated all who were sitting near.
Nero spread his hands in sign that he had to yield. All faces assumedthen an expression of gratitude, and all eyes were turned to him; but hegave command first to announce to Poppaea that he would sing; he informedthose present that she had not come to the feast, because she did notfeel in good health; but since no medicine gave her such relief as hissinging, he would be sorry to deprive her of this opportunity.
In fact, Poppaea came soon. Hitherto she had ruled Nero as if he hadbeen her subject, but she knew that when his vanity as a singer, acharioteer, or a poet was involved, there was danger in provoking it.She came in therefore, beautiful as a divinity, arrayed, like Nero,in robes of amethyst color, and wearing a necklace of immense pearls,stolen on a time from Massinissa; she was golden-haired, sweet, andthough divorced from two husbands she had the face and the look of avirgin.
She was greeted with shouts, and the appellation "Divine Augusta." Lygiahad never seen any one so beautiful, and she could not believe her owneyes, for she knew that Poppaea Sabina was one of the vilest women onearth. She knew from Pomponia that she had brought Caesar to murder hismother and his wife; she knew her from accounts given by Aulus's guestsand the servants; she had heard that statues to her had been throwndown at night in the city; she had heard of inscriptions, the writersof which had been condemned to severest punishment, but which stillappeared on the city walls every morning. Yet at sight of the notoriousPoppaea, considered by the confessors of Christ as crime and evilincarnate, it seemed to her that angels or spirits of heaven might looklike her. She was unable simply to take her eyes from Poppaea; and fromher lips was wrested involuntarily the question,--"Ah, Marcus, can it bepossible?"
But he, roused by wine, and as it were impatient that so many thingshad scattered her attention, and taken her from him and his words,said,--"Yes, she is beautiful, but thou art a hundred times morebeautiful. Thou dost not know thyself, or thou wouldst be in love withthyself, as Narcissus was; she bathes in asses' milk, but Venus bathedthee in her own milk. Thou dost not know thyself, Ocelle mi! Look not ather. Turn thy eyes to me, Ocelle mi! Touch this goblet of wine with thylips, and I will put mine on the same place."
And he pushed up nearer and nearer, and she began to withdraw towardActe. But at that moment silence was enjoined because Caesar had risen.The singer Diodorus had given him a lute of the kind called delta;another singer named Terpnos, who had to accompany him in playing,approached with an instrument called the nablium. Nero, resting thedelta on the table, raised his eyes; and for a moment silence reigned inthe triclinium, broken only by a rustle, as roses fell from the ceiling.
Then he began to chant, or rather to declaim, singingly andrhythmically, to the accompaniment of the two lutes, his own hymn toVenus. Neither the voice, though somewhat injured, nor the verses werebad, so that reproaches of conscience took possession of Lygia again;for the hymn, though glorifying the impure pagan Venus, seemed to hermore than beautiful, and Caesar himself, with a laurel crown on his headand uplifted eyes, nobler, much less terrible, and less repulsive thanat the beginning of the feast.
The guests answered with a thunder of applause. Cries of, "Oh, heavenlyvoice!" were heard round about; some of the women raised their hands,and held them thus, as a sign of delight, even after the end of thehymn; others wiped their tearful eyes; the whole hall was seething as ina beehive. Poppaea, bending her golden-haired head, raised Nero's handto her lips, and held it long in silence. Pythagoras, a young Greekof marvellous beauty,--the same to whom later the half-insane Nerocommanded the flamens to marry him, with the observance of allrites,--knelt now at his feet.
But Nero looked carefully at Petronius, whose praises were desired byhim always before every other, and who said,--"If it is a question ofmusic, Orpheus must at this moment be as yellow from envy as Lucan,who is here present; and as to the verses, I am sorry that they are notworse; if they were I might find proper words to praise them."
Lucan did not take the mention of envy evil of him; on the contrary, helooked at Petronius with gratitude, and, affecting ill-humor, began tomurmur,--"Cursed fate, which commanded me to live contemporary with sucha poet. One might have a place in the memory of man, and on Parnassus;but now one will quench, as a candle in sunlight."
Petronius, who had an amazing memory, began to repeat extracts fromthe hymn and cite single verses, exalt, and analyze the more beautifulexpressions. Lucan, forgetting as it were his envy before the charm ofthe poetry, joined his ecstasy to Petronius's words. On Nero's face werereflected delight and fathomless vanity, not only nearing stupidity, butreaching it perfectly. He indicated to them verses which he consideredthe most beautiful; and finally he began to comfort Lucan, and tell himnot to lose heart, for though whatever a man is born that he is,the honor which people give Jove does not exclude respect for otherdivinities.
Then he rose to co
nduct Poppaea, who, being really in ill health, wishedto withdraw. But he commanded the guests who remained to occupy theirplaces anew, and promised to return, In fact, he returned a littlelater, to stupefy himself with the smoke of incense, and gaze at furtherspectacles which he himself, Petronius, or Tigellinus had prepared forthe feast.
Again verses were read or dialogues listened to in which extravagancetook the place of wit. After that Paris, the celebrated mime,represented the adventures of Io, the daughter of Inachus. To theguests, and especially to Lygia, unaccustomed to such scenes, it seemedthat they were gazing at miracles and enchantment. Paris, with motionsof his hands and body, was able to express things apparently impossiblein a dance. His hands dimmed the air, creating a cloud, bright, living,quivering, voluptuous, surrounding the half-fainting form of a maidenshaken by a spasm of delight. That was a picture, not a dance; anexpressive picture, disclosing the secrets of love, bewitching andshameless; and when at the end of it Corybantes rushed in and begana bacchic dance with girls of Syria to the sounds of cithara, lutes,drums, and cymbals,--a dance filled with wild shouts and still wilderlicense,--it seemed to Lygia that living fire was burning her, and thata thunderbolt ought to strike that house, or the ceiling fall on theheads of those feasting there.
But from the golden net fastened to the ceiling only roses fell, andthe now half-drunken Vinicius said to her,--"I saw thee in the house ofAulus, at the fountain. It was daylight, and thou didst think thatno one saw thee; but I saw thee. And I see thee thus yet, though thatpeplus hides thee. Cast aside the peplus, like Crispinilla. See, godsand men seek love. There is nothing in the world but love. Lay thy headon my breast and close thy eyes."
The pulse beat oppressively in Lygia's hands and temples. A feelingseized her that she was flying into some abyss, and that Vinicius, whobefore had seemed so near and so trustworthy, instead of saving wasdrawing her toward it. And she felt sorry for him. She began again todread the feast and him and herself. Some voice, like that of Pomponia,was calling yet in her soul, "O Lygia, save thyself!" But somethingtold her also that it was too late; that the one whom such a flame hadembraced as that which had embraced her, the one who had seen what wasdone at that feast and whose heart had beaten as hers had on hearing thewords of Vinicius, the one through whom such a shiver had passed as hadpassed through her when he approached, was lost beyond recovery. Shegrew weak. It seemed at moments to her that she would faint, and thensomething terrible would happen. She knew that, under penalty of Caesar'sanger, it was not permitted any one to rise till Caesar rose; but evenwere that not the case, she had not strength now to rise.
Meanwhile it was far to the end of the feast yet. Slaves brought newcourses, and filled the goblets unceasingly with wine; before the table,on a platform open at one side, appeared two athletes to give the guestsa spectacle of wrestling.
They began the struggle at once, and the powerful bodies, shining fromolive oil, formed one mass; bones cracked in their iron arms, and fromtheir set jaws came an ominous gritting of teeth. At moments was heardthe quick, dull thump of their feet on the platform strewn with saffron;again they were motionless, silent, and it seemed to the spectators thatthey had before them a group chiselled out of stone. Roman eyes followedwith delight the movement of tremendously exerted backs, thighs, andarms. But the struggle was not too prolonged; for Croton, a master,and the founder of a school of gladiators, did not pass in vain for thestrongest man in the empire. His opponent began to breathe more and morequickly: next a rattle was heard in his throat; then his face grew blue;finally he threw blood from his mouth and fell.
A thunder of applause greeted the end of the struggle, and Croton,resting his foot on the breast of his opponent, crossed his giganticarms on his breast, and cast the eyes of a victor around the hall.
Next appeared men who mimicked beasts and their voices, ball-playersand buffoons. Only a few persons looked at them, however, since wine haddarkened the eyes of the audience. The feast passed by degrees into adrunken revel and a dissolute orgy. The Syrian damsels, who appearedat first in the bacchic dance, mingled now with the guests. The musicchanged into a disordered and wild outburst of citharas, lutes, Armeniancymbals, Egyptian sistra, trumpets, and horns. As some of the guestswished to talk, they shouted at the musicians to disappear. The air,filled with the odor of flowers and the perfume of oils with whichbeautiful boys had sprinkled the feet of the guests during the feast,permeated with saffron and the exhalations of people, became stifling;lamps burned with a dim flame; the wreaths dropped sidewise on the headsof guests; faces grew pale and were covered with sweat. Vitelius rolledunder the table. Nigidia, stripping herself to the waist, droppedher drunken childlike head on the breast of Lucan, who, drunk in likedegree, fell to blowing the golden powder from her hair, and raisinghis eyes with immense delight. Vestinius, with the stubbornness ofintoxication, repeated for the tenth time the answer of Mopsus to thesealed letter of the proconsul. Tullius, who reviled the gods,said, with a drawling voice broken by hiccoughs,--"If the spheros ofXenophanes is round, then consider, such a god might be pushed alongbefore one with the foot, like a barrel."
But Domitius Afer, a hardened criminal and informer, was indignant atthe discourse, and through indignation spilled Falernian over his wholetunic. He had always believed in the gods. People say that Rome willperish, and there are some even who contend that it is perishingalready. And surely! But if that should come, it is because the youthare without faith, and without faith there can be no virtue. People haveabandoned also the strict habits of former days, and it never occursto them that Epicureans will not stand against barbarians. As for him,he--As for him, he was sorry that he had lived to such times, and thathe must seek in pleasures a refuge against griefs which, if not met,would soon kill him.
When he had said this, he drew toward him a Syrian dancer, and kissedher neck and shoulders with his toothless mouth. Seeing this, the consulMemmius Regulus laughed, and, raising his bald head with wreath awry,exclaimed,--"Who says that Rome is perishing? What folly! I, a consul,know better. Videant consules! Thirty legions are guarding our paxromana!"
Here he put his fists to his temples and shouted, in a voice heardthroughout the triclinium,--"Thirty legions! thirty legions! fromBritain to the Parthian boundaries!" But he stopped on a sudden, and,putting a finger to his forehead, said,--"As I live, I think there arethirty-two." He rolled under the table, and began soon to send forthflamingo tongues, roast and chilled mushrooms, locusts in honey, fish,meat, and everything which he had eaten or drunk.
But the number of the legions guarding Roman peace did not pacifyDomitius.
No, no! Rome must perish; for faith in the gods was lost, and so werestrict habits! Rome must perish; and it was a pity, for still life waspleasant there. Caesar was gracious, wine was good! Oh, what a pity!
And hiding his head on the arm of a Syrian bacchanal, he burst intotears. "What is a future life! Achilles was right,--better be a slavein the world beneath the sun than a king in Cimmerian regions. Andstill the question whether there are any gods--since it is unbelief--isdestroying the youth."
Lucan meanwhile had blown all the gold powder from Nigidia's hair, andshe being drunk had fallen asleep. Next he took wreaths of ivy fromthe vase before him, put them on the sleeping woman, and when he hadfinished looked at those present with a delighted and inquiring glance.He arrayed himself in ivy too, repeating, in a voice of deep conviction,"I am not a man at all, but a faun."
Petronius was not drunk; but Nero, who drank little at first, out ofregard for his "heavenly" voice, emptied goblet after goblet toward theend, and was drunk. He wanted even to sing more of his verses,--thistime in Greek,--but he had forgotten them, and by mistake sang an ode ofAnacreon. Pythagoras, Diodorus, and Terpnos accompanied him; but failingto keep time, they stopped. Nero as a judge and an aesthete was enchantedwith the beauty of Pythagoras, and fell to kissing his hands in ecstasy."Such beautiful hands I have seen only once, and whose were they?" Thenplacing his palm on his moist forehead, he tr
ied to remember. After awhile terror was reflected on his face.
Ah! His mother's--Agrippina's!
And a gloomy vision seized him forthwith.
"They say," said he, "that she wanders by moonlight on the sea aroundBaiae and Bauli. She merely walks,--walks as if seeking for something.When she comes near a boat, she looks at it and goes away; but thefisherman on whom she has fixed her eye dies."
"Not a bad theme," said Petronius.
But Vestinius, stretching his neck like a stork, whisperedmysteriously,--"I do not believe in the gods; but I believe inspirits--Oi!"
Nero paid no attention to their words, and continued,--"I celebrated theLemuria, and have no wish to see her. This is the fifth year--I hadto condemn her, for she sent assassins against me; and, had I not beenquicker than she, ye would not be listening to-night to my song."
"Thanks be to Caesar, in the name of the city and the world!" criedDomitius Afer.
"Wine! and let them strike the tympans!"
The uproar began anew. Lucan, all in ivy, wishing to outshout him, roseand cried,--"I am not a man, but a faun; and I dwell in the forest.Eho-o-o-oo!" Caesar drank himself drunk at last; men were drunk, andwomen were drunk. Vinicius was not less drunk than others; and inaddition there was roused in him, besides desire, a wish to quarrel,which happened always when he passed the measure. His dark face becamepaler, and his tongue stuttered when he spoke, in a voice now loud andcommanding,--"Give me thy lips! To-day, to-morrow, it is all one! Enoughof this!
"Caesar took thee from Aulus to give thee to me, dost understand?To-morrow, about dusk, I will send for thee, dost understand? Caesarpromised thee to me before he took thee. Thou must be mine! Give me thylips! I will not wait for to-morrow,--give thy lips quickly."
And he moved to embrace her; but Acte began to defend her, and shedefended herself with the remnant of her strength, for she felt that shewas perishing. But in vain did she struggle with both hands to removehis hairless arm; in vain, with a voice in which terror and grief werequivering, did she implore him not to be what he was, and to have pityon her. Sated with wine, his breath blew around her nearer and nearer,and his face was there near her face. He was no longer the former kindVinicius, almost dear to her soul; he was a drunken, wicked satyr, whofilled her with repulsion and terror. But her strength deserted hermore and more. In vain did she bend and turn away her face to escape hiskisses. He rose to his feet, caught her in both arms, and drawing herhead to his breast, began, panting, to press her pale lips with his.
But at this instant a tremendous power removed his arms from her neckwith as much ease as if they had been the arms of a child, and pushedhim aside, like a dried limb or a withered leaf. What had happened?Vinicius rubbed his astonished eyes, and saw before him the giganticfigure of the Lygian, called Ursus, whom he had seen at the house ofAulus.
Ursus stood calmly, but looked at Vinicius so strangely with his blueeyes that the blood stiffened in the veins of the young man; then thegiant took his queen on his arm, and walked out of the triclinium withan even, quiet step.
Acte in that moment went after him.
Vinicius sat for the twinkle of an eye as if petrified; then he sprangup and ran toward the entrance crying,--"Lygia! Lygia!"
But desire, astonishment, rage, and wine cut the legs from under him.He staggered once and a second time, seized the naked arm of one of thebacchanals, and began to inquire, with blinking eyes, what had happened.She, taking a goblet of wine, gave it to him with a smile in hermist-covered eyes.
"Drink!" said she.
Vinicius drank, and fell to the floor.
The greater number of the guests were lying under the table; others werewalking with tottering tread through the triclinium, while others weresleeping on couches at the table, snoring, or giving forth the excessof wine. Meanwhile, from the golden network, roses were droppingand dropping on those drunken consuls and senators, on those drunkenknights, philosophers, and poets, on those drunken dancing damsels andpatrician ladies, on that society all dominant as yet but with the soulgone from it, on that society garlanded and ungirdled but perishing.
Dawn had begun out of doors.
Quo Vadis: A Narrative of the Time of Nero Page 7
