Quo Vadis: A Narrative of the Time of Nero

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

  Chapter LXXIII

  PETRONIUS was not mistaken. Two days later young Nerva, who had alwaysbeen friendly and devoted, sent his freedman to Cumae with news of whatwas happening at the court of Caesar.

  The death of Petronius had been determined. On the morning of thefollowing day they intended to send him a centurion, with the orderto stop at Cumae, and wait there for further instructions; the nextmessenger, to follow a few days later, was to bring the death sentence.

  Petronius heard the news with unruffled calmness.

  "Thou wilt take to thy lord," said he, "one of my vases; say from methat I thank him with my whole soul, for now I am able to anticipate thesentence."

  And all at once he began to laugh, like a man who has came upon aperfect thought, and rejoices in advance at its fulfilment.

  That same afternoon his slaves rushed about, inviting the Augustians,who were staying in Cumae, and all the ladies, to a magnificent banquetat the villa of the arbiter.

  He wrote that afternoon in the library; next he took a bath, after whichhe commanded the vestiplicae to arrange his dress. Brilliant and statelyas one of the gods, he went to the triclinium, to cast the eye of acritic on the preparations, and then to the gardens, where youths andGrecian maidens from the islands were weaving wreaths of roses for theevening.

  Not the least care was visible on his face. The servants only knew thatthe feast would be something uncommon, for he had issued a commandto give unusual rewards to those with whom he was satisfied, andsome slight blows to all whose work should not please him, or who haddeserved blame or punishment earlier. To the cithara players and thesingers he had ordered beforehand liberal pay. At last, sitting in thegarden under a beech, through whose leaves the sun-rays marked the earthwith bright spots, he called Eunice.

  She came, dressed in white, with a sprig of myrtle in her hair,beautiful as one of the Graces. He seated her at his side, and, touchingher temple gently with his fingers, he gazed at her with that admirationwith which a critic gazes at a statue from the chisel of a master.

  "Eunice," asked he, "dost thou know that thou art not a slave this longtime?"

  She raised to him her calm eyes, as blue as the sky, and denied with amotion of her head.

  "I am thine always," said she.

  "But perhaps thou knowest not," continued Petronius, "that the villa,and those slaves twining wreaths here, and all which is in the villa,with the fields and the herds, are thine henceforward."

  Eunice, when she heard this, drew away from him quickly, and asked in avoice filled with sudden fear,--

  "Why dost thou tell me this?"

  Then she approached again, and looked at him, blinking with amazement.After a while her face became as pale as linen. He smiled, and said onlyone word,--

  "So!"

  A moment of silence followed; merely a slight breeze moved the leaves ofthe beech.

  Petronius might have thought that before him was a statue cut from whitemarble.

  "Eunice," said he, "I wish to die calmly."

  And the maiden, looking at him with a heart-rending smile, whispered,--

  "I hear thee."

  In the evening the guests, who had been at feasts given by Petroniuspreviously, and knew that in comparison with them even Caesar's banquetsseemed tiresome and barbarous, began to arrive in numbers. To no one didit occur, even, that that was to be the last "symposium." Many knew,it is true, that the clouds of Caesar's anger were hanging over theexquisite arbiter; but that had happened so often, and Petronius hadbeen able so often to scatter them by some dexterous act or by a singlebold word, that no one thought really that serious danger threatenedhim. His glad face and usual smile, free of care, confirmed all, to thelast man, in that opinion. The beautiful Eunice, to whom he had declaredhis wish to die calmly, and for whom every word of his was like anutterance of fate, had in her features a perfect calmness, and in hereyes a kind of wonderful radiance, which might have been considereddelight. At the door of the triclinium, youths with hair in golden netsput wreaths of roses on the heads of the guests, warning them, as thecustom was, to pass the threshold right foot foremost. In the hall therewas a slight odor of violets; the lamps burned in Alexandrian glass ofvarious colors. At the couches stood Grecian maidens, whose office itwas to moisten the feet of guests with perfumes. At the walls citharaplayers and Athenian choristers were waiting for the signal of theirleader.

  The table service gleamed with splendor, but that splendor did notoffend or oppress; it seemed a natural development. Joyousness andfreedom spread through the hall with the odor of violets. The guests asthey entered felt that neither threat nor constraint was hanging overthem, as in Caesar's house, where a man might forfeit his life forpraises not sufficiently great or sufficiently apposite. At sight of thelamps, the goblets entwined with ivy, the wine cooling on banks ofsnow, and the exquisite dishes, the hearts of the guests became joyous.Conversation of various kinds began to buzz, as bees buzz on an appletree in blossom. At moments it was interrupted by an outburst of gladlaughter, at moments by murmurs of applause, at moments by a kiss placedtoo loudly on some white shoulder.

  The guests, while drinking wine, spilled from their goblets a few dropsto the immortal gods, to gain their protection, and their favor forthe host. It mattered not that many of them had no belief in the gods.Custom and superstition prescribed it. Petronius, inclining near Eunice,talked of Rome, of the latest divorces, of love affairs, of the races,of Spiculus, who had become famous recently in the arena, and of thelatest books in the shops of Atractus and the Sozii. When he spilledwine, he said that he spilled it only in honor of the Lady of Cyprus,the most ancient divinity and the greatest, the only immortal, enduring,and ruling one.

  His conversation was like sunlight which lights up some new object everyinstant, or like the summer breeze which stirs flowers in a garden. Atlast he gave a signal to the leader of the music, and at that signal thecitharae began to sound lightly, and youthful voices accompanied. Thenmaidens from Kos, the birthplace of Eunice, danced, and showed theirrosy forms through robes of gauze. Finally, an Egyptian soothsayer toldthe guests their future from the movement of rainbow colors in a vesselof crystal.

  When they had enough of these amusements, Petronius rose somewhat on hisSyrian cushion, and said with hesitation,--

  "Pardon me, friends, for asking a favor at a feast. Will each man acceptas a gift that goblet from which he first shook wine in honor of thegods and to my prosperity?"

  The goblets of Petronius were gleaming in gold, precious stones, andthe carving of artists; hence, though gift giving was common in Rome,delight filled every heart. Some thanked him loudly: others said thatJove had never honored gods with such gifts in Olympus; finally, therewere some who refused to accept, since the gifts surpassed commonestimate.

  But he raised aloft the Myrrhene vase, which resembled a rainbow inbrilliancy, and was simply beyond price.

  "This," said he, "is the one out of which I poured in honor of the Ladyof Cyprus. The lips of no man may touch it henceforth, and no hand mayever pour from it in honor of another divinity."

  He cast the precious vessel to the pavement, which was covered withlily-colored saffron flowers; and when it was broken into small pieces,he said, seeing around him astonished faces,--

  "My dear friends, be glad and not astonished. Old age and weakness aresad attendants in the last years of life. But I will give you a goodexample and good advice: Ye have the power, as ye see, not to wait forold age; ye can depart before it comes, as I do."

  "What dost thou wish?" asked a number of voices, with alarm.

  "I wish to rejoice, to drink wine, to hear music, to look on thosedivine forms which ye see around me, and fall asleep with a garlandedhead. I have taken farewell of Caesar, and do ye wish to hear what Iwrote him at parting?"

  He took from beneath the purple cushion a paper, and read as follows:--

  "I know, O Caesar, that thou art awaiting my arrival with impatience,that thy true heart of a friend is yearning day
and night for me. Iknow that thou art ready to cover me with gifts, make me prefect of thepretorian guards, and command Tigellinus to be that which the godsmade him, a mule-driver in those lands which thou didst inherit afterpoisoning Domitius. Pardon me, however, for I swear to thee by Hades,and by the shades of thy mother, thy wife, thy brother, and Seneca, thatI cannot go to thee. Life is a great treasure. I have taken the mostprecious jewels from that treasure, but in life there are many thingswhich I cannot endure any longer. Do not suppose, I pray, that I amoffended because thou didst kill thy mother, thy wife, and thy brother;that thou didst burn Rome and send to Erebus all the honest men in thydominions. No, grandson of Chronos. Death is the inheritance of man;from thee other deeds could not have been expected. But to destroy one'sear for whole years with thy poetry, to see thy belly of a Domitiuson slim legs whirled about in Pyrrhic dance; to hear thy music, thydeclamation, thy doggerel verses, wretched poet of the suburbs,--is athing surpassing my power, and it has roused in me the wish to die. Romestuffs its ears when it hears thee; the world reviles thee. I can blushfor thee no longer, and I have no wish to do so. The howls of Cerberus,though resembling thy music, will be less offensive to me, for I havenever been the friend of Cerberus, and I need not be ashamed of hishowling. Farewell, but make no music; commit murder, but write noverses; poison people, but dance not; be an incendiary, but play not ona cithara. This is the wish and the last friendly counsel sent thee bythe--Arbiter Elegantiae."

  The guests were terrified, for they knew that the loss of dominion wouldhave been less cruel to Nero than this blow. They understood, too, thatthe man who had written that paper must die; and at the same time palefear flew over them because they had heard such a paper.

  But Petronius laughed with sincere and gladsome joy, as if it werea question of the most innocent joke; then he cast his eyes on allpresent, and said,--

  "Be joyous, and drive away fear. No one need boast that he heard thisletter. I will boast of it only to Charon when I am crossing in the boatwith him."

  He beckoned then to the Greek physician, and stretched out his arm. Theskilled Greek in the twinkle of an eye opened the vein at the bendof the arm. Blood spurted on the cushion, and covered Eunice, who,supporting the head of Petronius, bent over him and said,--

  "Didst thou think that I would leave thee? If the gods gave meimmortality, and Caesar gave me power over the earth, I would follow theestill."

  Petronius smiled, raised himself a little, touched her lips with his,and said,--

  "Come with me."

  She stretched her rosy arm to the physician, and after a while her bloodbegan to mingle and be lost in his blood.

  Then he gave a signal to the leader of the music, and again the voicesand cithariae were heard. They sang "Harmodius"; next the song ofAnacreon resounded,--that song in which he complained that on a timehe had found Aphrodite's boy chilled and weeping under trees; that hebrought him in, warmed him, dried his wings, and the ungrateful childpierced his heart with an arrow,--from that moment peace had desertedthe poet.

  Petronius and Eunice, resting against each other, beautiful as twodivinities, listened, smiling and growing pale. At the end of the songPetronius gave directions to serve more wine and food; then he conversedwith the guests sitting near him of trifling but pleasant things, suchas are mentioned usually at feasts. Finally, he called to the Greek tobind his arm for a moment; for he said that sleep was tormenting him,and he wanted to yield himself to Hypnos before Thanatos put him tosleep forever.

  In fact, he fell asleep. When he woke, the head of Eunice was lying onhis breast like a white flower. He placed it on the pillow to look at itonce more. After that his veins were opened again.

  At his signal the singers raised the song of Anacreon anew, and thecitharae accompanied them so softly as not to drown a word. Petroniusgrew paler and paler; but when the last sound had ceased, he turned tohis guests again and said,

  "Friends, confess that with us perishes--"

  But he had not power to finish; his arm with its last movement embracedEunice, his head fell on the pillow, and he died.

  The guests looking at those two white forms, which resembled twowonderful statues, understood well that with them perished all that wasleft to their world at that time,--poetry and beauty.

  EPILOGUE

  AT first the revolt of the Gallic legions under Vindex did not seem veryserious. Caesar was only in his thirty-first year, and no one was boldenough to hope that the world could be freed so soon from the nightmarewhich was stifling it. Men remembered that revolts had occurredmore than once among the legions,--they had occurred in previousreigns,--revolts, however, which passed without involving a change ofgovernment; as during the reign of Tiberius, Drusus put down therevolt of the Pannonian legions. "Who," said the people, "can take thegovernment after Nero, since all the descendants of the divine Augustushave perished?" Others, looking at the Colossus, imagined him aHercules, and thought that no force could break such power. There werethose even who since he went to Achaea were sorry for him, becauseHelius and Polythetes, to whom he left the government of Rome and Italy,governed more murderously than he had.

  No one was sure of life or property. Law ceased to protect. Humandignity and virtue had perished, family bonds existed no longer, anddegraded hearts did not even dare to admit hope. From Greece cameaccounts of the incomparable triumphs of Caesar, of the thousands ofcrowns which he had won, the thousands of competitors whom he hadvanquished. The world seemed to be one orgy of buffoonery and blood; butat the same time the opinion was fixed that virtue and deeds of dignityhad ceased, that the time of dancing and music, of profligacy, of blood,had come, and that life must flow on for the future in that way. Caesarhimself, to whom rebellion opened the road to new robberies, was notconcerned much about the revolt of the legions and Vindex; he evenexpressed his delight on that subject frequently. He did not wish toleave Achaea even; and only when Helius informed him that further delaymight cause the loss of dominion did he move to Naples.

  There he played and sang, neglecting news of events of growing danger.In vain did Tigellinus explain to him that former rebellions of legionshad no leaders, while at the head of affairs this time was a mandescended from the ancient kings of Gaul and Aquitania, a famous andtried soldier. "Here," answered Nero, "the Greeks listen to me,--theGreeks, who alone know how to listen, and who alone are worthy of mysong." He said that his first duty was art and glory. But when at lastthe news came that Vindex had proclaimed him a wretched artist, hesprang up and moved toward Rome. The wounds inflicted by Petronius, andhealed by his stay in Greece, opened in his heart anew, and he wished toseek retribution from the Senate for such unheard-of injustice.

  On the road he saw a group cast in bronze, representing a Gallic warrioras overcome by a Roman knight; he considered that a good omen, andthenceforward, if he mentioned the rebellious legions and Vindex, it wasonly to ridicule them. His entrance to the city surpassed all that hadbeen witnessed earlier. He entered in the chariot used by Augustus inhis triumph. One arch of the Circus was destroyed to give a road to theprocession. The Senate, knights, and innumerable throngs of people wentforth to meet him. The walls trembled from shouts of "Hail, Augustus!Hail, Hercules! Hail, divinity, the incomparable, the Olympian, thePythian, the immortal!" Behind him were borne the crowns, the namesof cities in which he had triumphed; and on tablets were inscribedthe names of the masters whom he had vanquished. Nero himself wasintoxicated with delight, and with emotion he asked the Augustians whostood around him, "What was the triumph of Julius compared with this?"The idea that any mortal should dare to raise a hand on such a demigoddid not enter his head. He felt himself really Olympian, and thereforesafe. The excitement and the madness of the crowd roused his ownmadness. In fact, it might seem in the day of that triumph that notmerely Caesar and the city, but the world, had lost its senses.

  Through the flowers and the piles of wreaths no one could see theprecipice. Still that same evening columns and walls of temples werecovered wi
th inscriptions, describing Nero's crimes, threatening himwith coming vengeance, and ridiculing him as an artist. From mouth tomouth went the phrase, "He sang till he roused the Gauls." Alarming newsmade the rounds of the city, and reached enormous measures. Alarm seizedthe Augustians. People, uncertain of the future, dazed not express hopesor wishes; they hardly dared to feel or think.

  But he went on living only in the theatre and music. Instruments newlyinvented occupied him, and a new water-organ, of which trials were madeon the Palatine. With childish mind, incapable of plan or action, heimagined that he could ward off danger by promises of spectacles andtheatrical exhibitions reaching far into the future, Persons nearesthim, seeing that instead of providing means and an army, he was merelysearching for expressions to depict the danger graphically, began tolose their heads. Others thought that he was simply deafening himselfand others with quotations, while in his soul he was alarmed andterrified. In fact, his acts became feverish. Every day a thousand newplans flew through his head. At times he sprang up to rush out againstdanger; gave command to pack up his lutes and citharae, to arm the youngslave women as Amazons, and lead the legions to the East. Again hethought to finish the rebellion of the Gallic legions, not with war, butwith song; and his soul laughed at the spectacle which was to followhis conquest of the soldiers by song. The legionaries would surroundhim with tears in their eyes; he would sing to them an epinicium, afterwhich the golden epoch would begin for him and for Rome. At one time hecalled for blood; at another he declared that he would be satisfiedwith governing in Egypt. He recalled the prediction which promisedhim lordship in Jerusalem, and he was moved by the thought that asa wandering minstrel he would earn his daily bread,--that cities andcountries would honor in him, not Caesar, the lord of the earth, but apoet whose like the world had not produced before. And so he struggled,raged, played, sang, changed his plan, changed his quotations, changedhis life and the world into a dream absurd, fantastic, dreadful, into anuproarious hunt composed of unnatural expressions, bad verses, groans,tears, and blood; but meanwhile the cloud in the west was increasing andthickening every day. The measure was exceeded; the insane comedy wasnearing its end.

  When news that Galba and Spain had joined the uprising came to his ears,he fell into rage and madness. He broke goblets, overturned the table ata feast, and issued orders which neither Helius nor Tigeliinus himselfdared to execute. To kill Gauls resident in Rome, fire the city a secondtime, let out the wild beasts, and transfer the capital to Alexandriaseemed to him great, astonishing, and easy. But the days of his dominionhad passed, and even those who shared in his former crimes began to lookon him as a madman.

  The death of Vindex, and disagreement in the revolting legions seemed,however, to turn the scale to his side. Again new feasts, new triumphs,and new sentences were issued in Rome, till a certain night when amessenger rushed up on a foaming horse, with the news that in the cityitself the soldiers had raised the standard of revolt, and proclaimedGalba Caesar.

  Nero was asleep when the messenger came; but when he woke he called invain for the night-guard, which watched at the entrance to his chambers.The palace was empty. Slaves were plundering in the most distant cornersthat which could be taken most quickly. But the sight of Nero frightenedthem; he wandered alone through the palace, filling it with cries ofdespair and fear.

  At last his freedmen, Phaon, Sporus, and Epaphroditus, came to hisrescue. They wished him to flee, and said that there was no time to belost; but he deceived himself still. If he should dress in mourning andspeak to the Senate, would it resist his prayers and eloquence? If heshould use all his eloquence, his rhetoric and skill of an actor, wouldany one on earth have power to resist him? Would they not give him eventhe prefecture of Egypt?

  The freedmen, accustomed to flatter, had not the boldness yet to refusehim directly; they only warned him that before he could reach the Forumthe people would tear him to pieces, and declared that if he did notmount his horse immediately, they too would desert him.

  Phaon offered refuge in his villa outside the Nomentan Gate. After awhile they mounted horses, and, covering Nero's head with a mantle, theygalloped off toward the edge of the city. The night was growing pale.But on the streets there was a movement which showed the exceptionalnature of the time. Soldiers, now singly and now in small groups, werescattered through the city. Not far from the camp Caesar's horse sprangaside suddenly at sight of a corpse. The mantle slipped from his head;a soldier recognized Nero, and, confused by the unexpected meeting,gave the military salute. While passing the pretorian camp, they heardthundering shouts in honor of Galba. Nero understood at last that thehour of death was near. Terror and reproaches of conscience seized him.He declared that he saw darkness in front of him in the form of a blackcloud. From that cloud came forth faces in which he saw his mother, hiswife, and his brother. His teeth were chattering from fright; still hissoul of a comedian found a kind of charm in the horror of the moment.To be absolute lord of the earth and lose all things, seemed to him theheight of tragedy; and faithful to himself, he played the first role tothe end. A fever for quotations took possession of him, and a passionatewish that those present should preserve them for posterity. At momentshe said that he wished to die, and called for Spiculus, the most skilledof all gladiators in killing. At moments he declaimed, "Mother, wife,father, call me to death!" Flashes of hope rose in him, however, fromtime to time,--hope vain and childish. He knew that he was going todeath, and still he did not believe it.

  They found the Nomentan Gate open. Going farther, they passed nearOstrianum, where Peter had taught and baptized. At daybreak they reachedPhaon's villa.

  There the freedmen hid from him no longer the fact that it was time todie. He gave command then to dig a grave, and lay on the ground so thatthey might take accurate measurement. At sight of the earth thrownup, however, terror seized him. His fat face became pale, and on hisforehead sweat stood like drops of dew in the morning. He delayed. In avoice at once abject and theatrical, he declared that the hour had notcome yet; then he began again to quote. At last he begged them toburn his body. "What an artist is perishing!" repeated he, as if inamazement.

  Meanwhile Phaon's messenger arrived with the announcement that theSenate had issued the sentence that the "parricide" was to be punishedaccording to ancient custom.

  "What is the ancient custom?" asked Nero, with whitened lips.

  "They will fix thy neck in a fork, flog thee to death, and hurl thy bodyinto the Tiber," answered Epaphroditus, abruptly.

  Nero drew aside the robe from his breast.

  "It is time, then!" said he, looking into the sky. And he repeated oncemore, "What an artist is perishing!"

  At that moment the tramp of a horse was heard. That was the centurioncoming with soldiers for the head of Ahenobarbus.

  "Hurry!" cried the freedmen.

  Nero placed the knife to his neck, but pushed it only timidly. It wasclear that he would never have courage to thrust it in. Epaphrodituspushed his hand suddenly,--the knife sank to the handle. Nero's eyesturned in his head, terrible, immense, frightened.

  "I bring thee life!" cried the centurion, entering.

  "Too late!" said Nero, with a hoarse voice; then he added,--

  "Here is faithfulness!"

  In a twinkle death seized his head. Blood from his heavy neck gushed ina dark stream on the flowers of the garden. His legs kicked the ground,and he died.

  On the morrow the faithful Acte wrapped his body in costly stuffs, andburned him on a pile filled with perfumes.

  And so Nero passed, as a whirlwind, as a storm, as a fire, as war ordeath passes; but the basilica of Peter rules till now, from the Vaticanheights, the city, and the world.

  Near the ancient Porta Capena stands to this day a little chapel withthe inscription, somewhat worn: Quo Vadis, Domine?

 
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