Quo Vadis quotes

“Perhaps thou art right, but for that matter it is all one.

Dullness, as Pyrrho says, is in no way worse than wisdom, and differs from it in nothing.

”

I saw that they were tricksters, but I said to myself: ‘What harm! The world stands on deceit, and life is an illusion. The soul is an illusion too.

But one must have reason enough to distinguish pleasant from painful illusions.

’ I shall give command to burn in my hypocaustum, cedarwood sprinkled with ambergris, for during life I prefer perfumes to stenches.

“If it is thy creation, gladly!” answered the young tribune; “if not, I prefer conversation.

Poets seize people at present on every street corner.

”

“Of course they do.

Thou wilt not pass any basilica, bath, library, or bookshop without seeing a poet gesticulating like a monkey.

Agrippa, on coming here from the East, mistook them for madmen. And it is just such a time now. Caesar writes verses; hence all follow in his steps.

“Of course they do. Thou wilt not pass any basilica, bath, library, or bookshop without seeing a poet gesticulating like a monkey. Agrippa, on coming here from the East, mistook them for madmen. And it is just such a time now.

Caesar writes verses; hence all follow in his steps. Only it is not permitted to write better verses than Caesar, and for that reason I fear a little for Lucan.

But I write prose, with which, however, I do not honor myself or others. What the lector has to read are codicilli of that poor Fabricius Veiento.”

For that matter, every man has his preferences. Bronzebeard loves song, especially his own; and old Scaurus his Corinthian vase, which stands near his bed at night, and which he kisses when he cannot sleep.

He has kissed the edge off already.

Tell me, dost thou not write verses?”

but better, and especially safer, not to write verses, not to play, not to sing, and not to compete in the Circus.

Best of all, is it to know how to admire when Bronzebeard admires.

Thou art a comely young man; hence Poppaea may fall in love with thee. This is thy only peril. But no, she is too experienced; she cares for something else. She has had enough of love with her two husbands;

but better, and especially safer, not to write verses, not to play, not to sing, and not to compete in the Circus. Best of all, is it to know how to admire when Bronzebeard admires.

Thou art a comely young man; hence Poppaea may fall in love with thee. This is thy only peril.

But no, she is too experienced; she cares for something else. She has had enough of love with her two husbands; with the third she has other views. Dost thou know that that stupid Otho loves her yet to distraction?

and perhaps he is right. My jests do not prevent me from thinking at times that in truth there is only one deity, eternal, creative, all-powerful, Venus Genetrix. She brings souls together; she unites bodies and things.

Eros called the world out of chaos. Whether he did well is another question; but, since he did so, we should recognize his might, though we are free not to bless it.

”

“

Alas! Petronius, it is easier to find philosophy in the world than wise counsel.

”

As to verses, they have disgusted me, since Nero is writing an epic. Vitellius, when he wishes to relieve himself, uses ivory fingers to thrust down his throat; others serve themselves with flamingo feathers steeped in olive oil or in a decoction of wild thyme.

I read Nero’s poetry, and the result is immediate. Straightway I am able to praise it, if not with a clear conscience, at least with a clear stomach.

”

“Of course it is known to thee that Pomponia Graecina is suspected of entertaining that Eastern superstition which consists in honoring a certain Chrestos. It seems that Crispinilla rendered her this service—she who cannot forgive Pomponia because one husband has sufficed her for a lifetime.

A one-man Woman! Today, in Rome, it is easier to get a half-plate of fresh mushrooms from Noricum than to find such.

They tried her before a domestic court—”

“Life deserves laughter, hence people laugh at it,” answered Petronius, “but laughter here has another sound.”

“Petronius does not laugh for days in succession,” said Vinicius; “but then he laughs entire nights.”

Thus conversing, they passed through the length of the house and reached the garden, where Lygia and little Aulus were playing with balls, which slaves, appointed to that game exclusively and called spheristae, picked up and placed in their hands.

But can Caesar himself, can any god even, experience greater delight or be happier than a simple mortal at the moment when at his breast there is breathing another dear breast, or when he kisses beloved lips?

Hence love makes us equal to the gods, O Lygia.

”

She raised her delicate face toward the evening light, and said with simplicity—“

Not Nero, but God, rules the world.

”

“Thou art not our servant, but Lygia’s,” answered Pomponia; “but if they admit thee through Caesar’s doors, in what way wilt thou be able to watch over her?”

“I know not, domina; I know only that iron breaks in my hands just as wood does.”

When Aulus, who came up at that moment, had heard what the question was, not only did he not oppose the wishes of Ursus, but he declared that he had not even the right to detain him.

“Aulus,” said Pomponia. “

Nero is only a handful of rotten dust before God.

”

Suddenly an amazing thing happened. That slender and effeminate Petronius seized the hand of the youthful athlete, which was grasping his shoulder, then seized the other, and, holding them both in his one hand with the grip of an iron vice, he said—“

I am incapable only in the morning; in the evening I regain my former strength.

Try to escape. A weaver must have taught thee gymnastics, and a blacksmith thy manners.”

in the evening I regain my former strength. Try to escape.

A weaver must have taught thee gymnastics, and a blacksmith thy manners.

”

but if that position were mine, I should not write justifying letters to the Senate. But Nero writes. Nero is looking for appearances, for Nero is a coward. But Tiberius was not a coward; still he justified every step he took. Why is this?

What a marvelous, involuntary homage paid to virtue by evil!

And knowest thou what strikes me? This, that it is done because transgression is ugly and virtue is beautiful. Therefore a man of genuine aesthetic feeling is also a virtuous man. Hence I am virtuous.

Acte, pleased by the praise and confidence, pressed her to her heart; and then disengaging herself from the arms of the maiden, answered—“

My happiness has passed and my joy is gone, but I am not wicked.

” Then she began to walk with quick steps through the room and to speak to herself, as if in despair.

And after a while she added—“

No one loves him but me.

”

After a while he laid down the emerald and ceased to look at her.

Then she 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, turning to Petronius.

“

Array a rotten olive trunk in the peplus of a woman, and Vinicius will declare it beautiful.

But on thy countenance, incomparable judge, I read her sentence already. Thou hast no need to pronounce it! The sentence is true: she is too dry, thin, a mere blossom on a slender stalk; and thou, O divine aesthete, esteemest the stalk in a woman.

But the interest roused by the narrative was interrupted by Vitellius, who, drunk when he came to the feast, burst forth on a sudden and without cause in senseless laughter.

“What is that keg of tallow laughing at?” asked Nero.

“Laughter distinguishes men from animals,” said Petronius, “and he has no other proof that he is not a wild boar.”

Here he put his fists to his temples and shouted, in a voice heard throughout the triclinium—“Thirty legions! thirty legions! from Britain to the Parthian boundaries!” But he stopped on a sudden, and, putting a finger to his forehead, said—“

As I live, I think there are thirty-two.

” He rolled under the table, and began soon to send forth flamingo tongues, roast and chilled mushrooms, locusts in honey, fish, meat, and everything which he had eaten or drunk.

No, no! Rome must perish; for faith in the gods was lost, and so were strict habits!

Rome must perish; and it was a pity, for still life was pleasant there.

Caesar was gracious, wine was good! Oh, what a pity!

The dawn, casting light on her dark hair and white peplus, was reflected in her eyes.

Entirely in the light, she seemed herself like light.

In that pale face, in those parted lips, in those raised hands and eyes, a kind of superhuman exaltation was evident. Acte understood then why Lygia could not become the concubine of any man.

But Lygia raised her finger with great and also childlike seriousness.

“Ursus, do not kill,” said she.

Ursus put his fist, which was like a maul, to the back of his head, and, rubbing his neck with great seriousness, began to mutter. But he must rescue “his light.” She herself had said that his turn had come.

But Lygia answered calmly, and with still greater sadness, “

I would rather flee to the Lygians.

”

“Thou wert drunk yesterday,” said he; “I saw thee. Thou didst act with her like a quarryman from the Alban Hills. Be not over-insistent, and remember that one should drink good wine slowly.

Know too that it is sweet to desire, but sweeter to be desired.

”

What kind of love is that which dreads delight and gives pain? Who can understand it? Who can fathom it? Were it not for the hope that he should find her, he would sink a sword in himself.

Love surrenders; it does not take away.

There were moments at the house of Aulus when he himself believed in near happiness, but now he knows that she hated him, that she hates him, and will die with hatred in her heart.

She would have wreathed his door, rubbed it with wolf’s fat, and then sat as his wife by his hearth on the sheepskin. He would have heard from her mouth the sacramental:

“Where thou art, Caius, there am I, Caia.”

And she would have been his forever. Why did he not act thus? True, he had been ready so to act. But now she is gone, and it may be impossible to find her;

Petronius, who had not even thought that the young man could love and desire to such a degree, when he saw the tears of despair said to himself, with a certain astonishment—“

O mighty Lady of Cyprus, thou alone art ruler of gods and men!

”

“

A sea is just the place where men fish for pearls.

Of course we shall not find her today, or tomorrow, but we shall find her surely. Thou hast accused me just now of giving thee this method; but the method was good in itself, and became bad only when turned to bad.

“See,” said he, “they will believe, since thou art half a believer thyself.

Such is our society, which ridicules the gods.

They, too, will believe, and they will not look for her. Meanwhile we shall put her away somewhere far off from the city, in some villa of mine or thine.”

“

I am a Cynic, lord, because I wear a tattered mantle; I am a Stoic, because I bear poverty patiently; I am a Peripatetic, for, not owning a litter, I go on foot from one wine-shop to another, and on the way teach those who promise to pay for a pitcher of wine.

”

O gods! but the trade of procurer pays better at present than virtue. Ah! she drew a fish on the sand! If I know what that means, may I choke myself with a piece of goat’s cheese! But I shall know.

Fish live under water, and searching under water is more difficult than on land, ergo he will pay me separately for this fish.

Another such purse and I might cast aside the beggar’s wallet and buy myself a slave. But what wouldst thou say, Chilo, were I to advise thee to buy not a male but a female slave? I know thee; I know that thou wouldst consent.

Then, meditating for a moment, he said—“

It is not Atlas who carries the world on his shoulders, but woman; and sometimes she plays with it as with a ball.

”

“

I believe always in that in which I need to believe; that is my philosophy, which ought to please Mercury.

Unfortunately (ye know, worthy lords, what a suspicious god he is), he does not trust the promises even of blameless philosophers, and prefers the heifers in advance; meanwhile this outlay is immense. Not everyone is a Seneca, and I cannot afford the sacrifice;

Peace be with you! Thus do Christians take farewell of one another. I will buy myself a slave woman—that is, I wanted to say a slave man.

Fish are caught with a bait, and Christians with fish.

Pax vobiscum! pax! pax! pax!”

If ever I have property and a house, like this, and slaves in such numbers as Vinicius, perhaps I shall be a Christian as long as may be convenient.

For a rich man can permit himself everything, even virtue.

This is a religion for the rich; hence I do not understand how there are so many poor among its adherents. What good is it for them, and why do they let virtue tie their hands? I must think over this sometime.

He spoke meanwhile of it as of a thing perfectly certain; hence, in view of such a faith, virtue acquired a value simply measureless, and the misfortunes of this life became incomparably trivial.

To suffer temporally for inexhaustible happiness is a thing absolutely different from suffering because such is the order of nature.

But the old man said further that virtue and truth should be loved for themselves, since the highest eternal good and the virtue existing before ages is God; whoso therefore loves them loves God, and by that same becomes a cherished child of His.

At the same time he had a feeling that in that madness itself there was something mightier than all philosophies so far.

He thought that because of its madness it was impracticable, but because of its impracticability it was divine.

In his soul he rejected it; but he felt that he was parting as if from a field full of spikenard, a kind of intoxicating incense;

… of expectation, as if those people hoped to see Him or as if they hoped that He would descend again from the fields of heaven, and see how the old Apostle was feeding the sheep confided to him, and bless both the flock and him.

Rome did not exist for those people, nor did the man Caesar; there were no temples of pagan gods; there was only Christ, who filled the land, the sea, the heavens, and the world.

At the houses scattered here and there along the Via Nomentana, the cocks began to crow, announcing midnight.

Love flew over him like a flame, immense, mixed with a marvelous feeling of yearning, homage, honor, and desire.

He felt the delight which the sight of her caused him; he drank of her as of life-giving water after long thirst.

Standing near the gigantic Lygian, she seemed to him smaller than before, almost a child; he noticed, too, that she had grown more slender. Her complexion had become almost transparent; she made on him the impression of a flower, and a spirit.

he was almost sure that he could take her, but he was equally sure that, in view of her religion, he himself with his bravery was nothing, that his power was nothing, and that through it he could effect nothing.

That Roman military tribune, convinced that the power of the sword and the fist which had conquered the world, would command it forever, saw for the first time in life that beyond that power there might be something else; hence he asked himself with amazement what it was.

And he could not answer distinctly;

It is true that the gods are bound to watch over their chosen ones—but have not such things happened more than once, as if the gods were playing games instead of watching what was passing in the world?

Fortune is blindfold, as is well known, and does not see even in daylight; what must the case be at night?

Let something happen—let that Lygian bear hurl a millstone at the noble Vinicius, or a keg of wine, or, still worse, water—who will give assurance that instead of a reward blame will not fall on the hapless Chilo?

In the door appeared Ursus, with the body of Croton hanging on his arm, and looking around once more, he began to run, bearing it along the empty street toward the river.

Chilo made himself as flat against the wall as a bit of mud.

“I am lost if he sees me!” thought he.

So in what he thought of the Christians at that moment, besides the greatest astonishment, there was pity, and as it were a shade of contempt.

It seemed to him that they were sheep which earlier or later must be eaten by wolves; his Roman nature could yield no recognition to people who let themselves be devoured.

This one thing struck him, however—that after Chilo’s departure the faces of all were bright with a certain deep joy. The Apostle approached Glaucus, placed his hand on his head, and said—“In thee Christ has triumphed.”

“

Thou wilt honor Him in thy heart when thou lovest Him.

”

“

I saw thy soul in a dream,

” replied he.

He grew pale from the impression; but in the confusion and impulse of desires he felt also that that was a head dear above all and magnified above all, in comparison with which the whole world was nothing.

At first he had desired her; now he began to love her with a full breast.

Before that, as generally in life and in feeling, he had been, like all people of that time, a blind, unconditional egotist, who thought only of himself; at present he began to think of her.

The eyewitnesses who spoke of them were too trustworthy and despised falsehood too much to let him suppose that they were telling things that had not happened.

Finally, Roman skepticism permitted disbelief in the gods, but believed in miracles.

Vinicius, therefore, stood before a kind of marvelous puzzle which he could not solve. On the other hand, however, that religion seemed to him opposed to the existing state of things, impossible of practice, and mad in a degree beyond all others.

And dost thou know why that was so? It was because I sought at a distance that which was near.

A beautiful woman is worth her weight always in gold; but if she loves in addition, she has simply no price.

Such a one thou wilt not buy with the riches of Verres. I say now to myself as follows:

But she does not know that she is free, as also she does not know that this house and all my jewels, excepting the gems, will belong to her in case of my death.” He rose and walked through the room, and said: “

Love changes some more, others less, but it has changed even me.

Once I loved the odor of verbenas; but as Eunice prefers violets, I like them now beyond all other flowers, and since spring came we breathe only violets.”

Nero waved his hand with an expression of weariness, and said—“We shall see thy work on the pond of Agrippa. Afterward I go to Antium.

Ye are all little, hence do not understand that I need immense things.

”

But he looked at Petronius from habit, wishing to learn the opinion of the “arbiter,” who seemed indifferent for a long time, and only when questioned outright, answered—“

I judge, lord, that ten thousand naked maidens make less impression than one.

”

I have not known your religion much so far. A little from you, a little from your works, a little from Lygia, a little from conversations with you. Still I repeat that it has made some change in me.

Formerly I held my servants with an iron hand; I cannot do so now. I knew no pity; I know it now.

I was fond of pleasure; the other night I fled from the pond of Agrippa, for the breath was taken from me through disgust. Formerly I believed in superior force; now I have abandoned it. Know ye that I do not recognize myself.

Men tell me that in your religion there is no place for life, or human joy, or happiness, or law, or order, or authority, or Roman dominion. Is this true? Men tell me that ye are madmen; but tell me yourselves what ye bring.

Is it a sin to love, a sin to feel joy, a sin to want happiness?

Are ye enemies of life? Must a Christian be wretched? Must I renounce Lygia? What is truth in your view? Your deeds and words are like transparent water, but what is under that water? Ye see that I am sincere. Scatter the darkness.

But the heart of the old Apostle was stirred by that soul in suffering, which, like a bird in a cage, was struggling toward air and the sun; hence, stretching his hand to Vinicius, he said—“

Whoso knocketh, to him will be opened.

The favor and grace of God is upon thee; for this reason I bless thee, thy soul and thy love, in the name of the Redeemer of mankind.”

“

So he is in one person chief priest, a god, and an atheist

,” said Vinicius.

Petronius, who never wondered long at anything, had grown indifferent, and asked—“A fish, is it? Ah, ha! According to Chilo, that is the sign of a Christian, I remember.” Then he extended his hand to Vinicius, and said: “

Happiness is always where a man sees it.

May Flora strew flowers under thy feet for long years. I wish thee everything which thou wishest thyself.”

“No,” answered Petronius, with cool blood; “but I have changed my opinion. My dear,” added he after a while, “in Rome everything changes.

Husbands change wives, wives change husbands; why should not I change opinions?

It lacked little of Nero’s marrying Acte, whom for his sake they represented as the descendant of a kingly line. Well, he would have had an honest wife, and we an honest Augusta. By Proteus and his barren spaces in the sea!

Labor demands self-denial, and I will not deny myself anything. With thy nature, which is like fire and boiling water, something like this may happen any time. But I? I have my gems, my cameos, my vases, my Eunice.

I do not believe in Olympus, but I arrange it on earth for myself

; and I shall flourish till the arrows of the divine archer pierce me, or till Caesar commands me to open my veins. I love the odor of violets too much, and a comfortable triclinium.

It was known that on a time they shouted during the entrance to Rome of Julius Caesar: “

Citizens, hide your wives; the old libertine is coming!

” But Nero’s monstrous vanity could not endure the least blame or criticism; meanwhile in the throng, amid shouts of applause were heard cries of “Ahenobarbus, Ahenobarbus! Where hast thou put thy flaming beard? Dost thou fear that Rome might catch fire from it?”

“Citizens, hide your wives; the old libertine is coming!” But Nero’s monstrous vanity could not endure the least blame or criticism; meanwhile in the throng, amid shouts of applause were heard cries of “

Ahenobarbus, Ahenobarbus! Where hast thou put thy flaming beard? Dost thou fear that Rome might catch fire from it?

” And those who cried out in that fashion knew not that their jest concealed a dreadful prophecy.

For a while those two men looked at each other.

It occurred to no one in that brilliant retinue, and to no one in that immense throng, that at that moment two powers of the earth were looking at each other, one of which would vanish quickly as a bloody dream, and the other, dressed in simple garments, would seize in eternal possession the world and the city.

Meanwhile Caesar had passed; and immediately after him eight Africans bore a magnificent litter, in which sat Poppaea, who was detested by the people.

“

Common verses, fit for the fire.

”

“That is what we call speaking with sound reason,” said Nero. “

For art and poetry it is permitted, and it is right, to sacrifice everything.

Happy were the Achaeans who furnished Homer with the substance of the Iliad, and happy Priam who beheld the ruin of his birthplace. As to me, I have never seen a burning city.”

I shall command my physician to keep physic in it. I did this for another reason—because Tigellinus, seeing how such things succeed, will wish surely to imitate me, and I imagine what will happen.

The moment he starts a witticism, it will be as if a bear of the Pyrenees were rope-walking.

I shall laugh like Democritus. If I wished I could destroy Tigellinus perhaps, and become pretorian prefect in his place, and have Ahenobarbus himself in my hands. But I am indolent; I prefer my present life and even Caesar’s verses to trouble.”

But we shall succeed in dying; meanwhile we have no wish to burden life, and serve death before it takes us.

Life exists for itself alone, not for death.

”

It is true that if Caesar, for example, were a Christian, all would feel safer. But thy prophet of Tarsus, in applying proofs to me, did not think, seest thou, that for me this uncertainty becomes the charm of life.

Whoso does not play at dice will not lose property, but still people play at dice.

There is in that a certain delight and destruction of the present. I have known sons of knights and senators to become gladiators of their own will. I play with life, thou sayest, and that is true, but I play because it pleases me;

German bisons roar with no less gentleness than lions. As to me, I ridicule omens and fates. Last night was warm and I saw stars falling like rain. Many a man has an evil foreboding at such a sight; but I thought, ‘

If among these is my star too, I shall not lack society at least!

’ ” Then he was silent, but added after a moment’s thought—“If your Christ has risen from the dead, He may perhaps protect you both from death.”

I pursue them, I try to seize them; but before I can take them to myself, new and newer ones flow in, just like waves of the sea, which roll on from infinity.

Hence I tell thee that music is like the sea. We stand on one shore and gaze at remoteness, but we cannot see the other shore.

”

“I will.

Only great artists have power to feel small in the presence of art.

”

“And people would say, besides, that out of love for music thou destroyest music in thy dominions.

Never kill art for art’s sake, O divinity.

”

At times it seems to me that to reach those Olympian worlds I must do something which no man has done hitherto—I must surpass the stature of man in good or evil.

I know that people declare me mad. But I am not mad, I am only seeking.

And if I am going mad, it is out of disgust and impatience that I cannot find. I am seeking! Dost understand me? And therefore I wish to be greater than man, for only in that way can I be the greatest as an artist.”

and I should like to destroy them, though I had to use fire or iron.

Oh, how flat this world will be when I am gone from it!

No man has suspected yet, not thou even, what an artist I am. But precisely because of this I suffer, and sincerely do I tell thee that the soul in me is as gloomy as those cypresses which stand dark there in front of us.

No man has suspected yet, not thou even, what an artist I am. But precisely because of this I suffer, and sincerely do I tell thee that the soul in me is as gloomy as those cypresses which stand dark there in front of us.

It is grievous for a man to bear at once the weight of supreme power and the highest talents.

”

“

Oh, how pleasant it is to make people happy!

” said Nero. “Would that I might do nothing else all my life!”

“O gods!

I shall see a burning city and finish the Troyad

,” said Nero, setting aside his lute.

“

Woe to thee, sacred city of Priam!

”

“

Not to you do I call whose temples are burning, but to Thee!

Thou Thyself hast suffered. Thou alone art merciful! Thou alone hast understood people’s pain; Thou didst come to this world to teach pity to mankind; then show it now.

He said to himself in spirit that these were vain efforts. Lygia might not be in the city; she might have saved herself by flight.

It was easier to find a pin on the seashore than her in that crowd and chaos.

Still he wished to reach the house of Linus, even at the cost of his own life. At times he stopped and rubbed his eyes. Tearing off the edge of his tunic, he covered his nose and mouth with it and ran on.

It was evening, but in the garden one could see as in daylight, for the conflagration had increased. It seemed that not single parts of the city were burning, but the whole city through the length and the breadth of it.

The sky was red as far as the eye could see it, and that night in the world was a red night.

then the wind bore them away, turned them into golden threads, into hair, into sparks, and swept them on over the Campania toward the Alban Hills. The night became brighter; the air itself seemed penetrated, not only with light, but with flame.

The Tiber flowed on as living fire.

The hapless city was turned into one pandemonium. The conflagration seized more and more space, took hills by storm, flooded level places, drowned valleys, raged, roared, and thundered.

But neither despair nor blasphemy nor hymn helped in any way.

The destruction seemed as irresistible, perfect, and pitiless as Predestination itself.

Around Pompey’s Amphitheater stores of hemp caught fire, and ropes used in circuses, arenas, and every kind of machine at the games, and with them the adjoining buildings containing barrels of pitch with which ropes were smeared.

“It will perish! It will perish!” continued he, “and will never be on earth again. Whither will the world send its wheat now, its olives, and its money? Who will squeeze gold and tears from it?

Marble does not burn, but it crumbles in fire.

The Capitol will turn into dust, and the Palatine into dust. O Zeus! Rome was like a shepherd, and other nations like sheep.

Whither will the world send its wheat now, its olives, and its money? Who will squeeze gold and tears from it? Marble does not burn, but it crumbles in fire. The Capitol will turn into dust, and the Palatine into dust. O Zeus!

Rome was like a shepherd, and other nations like sheep. When the shepherd was hungry, he slaughtered a sheep, ate the flesh, and to thee, O father of the gods, he made an offering of the skin.

Who, O Cloud-compeller, will do the slaughtering now, and into whose hand wilt thou put the shepherd’s whip? For Rome is burning, O father, as truly as if thou hadst fired it with thy thunderbolt.”

Nero, on arriving at the Ostian Gate, halted, and said, “

Houseless ruler of a houseless people, where shall I lay my unfortunate head for the night?

”

through waving flames the Capitol appeared at intervals; the past and the spirit of Rome was burning.

But he, Caesar, was there with a lute in his hand and a theatrical expression on his face, not thinking of his perishing country, but of his posture and the prophetic words with which he might describe best the greatness of the catastrophe, rouse most admiration, and receive the warmest plaudits.

He detested that city, he detested its inhabitants, beloved only his own songs and verses; hence he rejoiced in heart that at last he saw a tragedy like that which he was writing.

Nero, when he heard that cry from hundreds of thousands, turned to the Augustians with the sad, resigned smile of a man who is suffering from injustice.

“See,” said he, “how the Quirites value poetry and me.”

“Scoundrels!” answered Vatinius. “Command the pretorians, lord, to fall on them.”

“Tell me sincerely, how did I seem to thee while I was singing?”

“Thou wert worthy of the spectacle, and the spectacle was worthy of thee,” said Petronius.

“But let us look at it again,” said he, turning to the fire, “and bid farewell to ancient Rome.”

Wash me quickly, for I am ready in heart. And what thou commandest I will do, but tell me, so that I may do it in addition.”

“Love men as thy own brothers,” answered the Apostle, “for only with love mayst thou serve Him.”

“Yes, I understand and feel that. When a child I believed in the Roman gods, though I did not love them. But I so love Him the One God that I would give my life for Him gladly.”

Of the fourteen divisions of Rome there remained only four, including the Trans-Tiber. Flames had consumed all the others. When at last the piles of cinders had been turned into ashes, an immense space was visible from the Tiber to the Esquiline, gray, gloomy, dead.

In this space stood rows of chimneys, like columns over graves in a cemetery.

Among these columns gloomy crowds of people moved about in the daytime, some seeking for precious objects, others for the bones of those dear to them. In the night dogs howled above the ashes and ruins of former dwellings.

In this space stood rows of chimneys, like columns over graves in a cemetery. Among these columns gloomy crowds of people moved about in the daytime, some seeking for precious objects, others for the bones of those dear to them.

In the night dogs howled above the ashes and ruins of former dwellings.

All the bounty and aid shown by Caesar to the populace did not restrain evil speech and indignation. Only the herd of robbers, criminals, and homeless ruffians, who could eat, drink, and rob enough, were contented.

The Augustians themselves were not less alarmed, for any morning might bring them destruction. Tigellinus thought of summoning certain legions from Asia Minor.

Vatinius, who laughed even when slapped on the face, lost his humor; Vitellius lost his appetite.

Others were taking counsel among themselves how to avert the danger, for it was no secret that were an outburst to carry off Caesar, not one of the Augustians would escape, except, perhaps, Petronius.

Silence followed. Caesar rose on a sudden, extended his hand, and began to declaim—

“Hearts call for vengeance, and vengeance wants a victim.”

Then, forgetting everything, he said, with radiant face: “Give me the tablet and stylus to write this line. Never could Lucan have composed the like. Have ye noticed that I found it in a twinkle?”

Vitellius grew pale, but began to laugh.

“My fat,” answered he, “might start the fire again.”

But Nero had something else on his mind; in his soul he was looking for a victim who might really satisfy the people’s anger, and he found him.

“Tigellinus,” said he after a while, “it was thou who didst burn Rome!” A shiver ran through those present. They understood that Caesar had ceased to jest this time, and that a moment had come which was pregnant with events.

The face of Tigellinus was wrinkled, like the lips of a dog about to bite.

“I burnt Rome at thy command!” said he.

“I burnt Rome at thy command!” said he.

And the two glared at each other like a pair of devils.

Such silence followed that the buzzing of flies was heard as they flew through the atrium.

Nero sat in silence for a moment; then, seeing that those present expected some answer, he said—

“I have reared a serpent in my bosom.”

Petronius shrugged his shoulders, as if to say that it was not difficult to pluck the head from such a serpent.

If I depart, who will guarantee that it will not revolt and proclaim someone else Caesar? The people have been faithful to me so far, but now they will follow the Senate. By Hades! if that Senate and that people had one head!—”

“Permit me to say, O divinity, that if thou desire to save Rome, there is need to save even a few Romans,” remarked Petronius, with a smile.

“What care I for Rome and Romans?” complained Nero. “I should be obeyed in Achaea. Here only treason surrounds me. All desert me, and ye are making ready for treason. I know it, I know it.

“Permit me to say, O divinity, that if thou desire to save Rome, there is need to save even a few Romans,” remarked Petronius, with a smile.

“What care I for Rome and Romans?” complained Nero.

“I should be obeyed in Achaea. Here only treason surrounds me. All desert me, and ye are making ready for treason. I know it, I know it.

That is true. Ye may send them to the arena, or array them in ‘painful tunics.’ That is true also. But hear me! Ye have authority, ye have pretorians, ye have power; then be sincere, at least, when no one is listening!

Deceive the people, but deceive not one another.

Give the Christians to the populace, condemn them to any torture ye like; but have courage to say to yourselves that it was not they who burnt Rome. Phy! Ye call me arbiter elegantiarum; hence I declare to you that I cannot endure wretched comedies!

“O lord, thy master Seneca has one thousand tables of citrus wood. At thy wish I will have twice as many. I am a Stoic from necessity.

Dress my stoicism, O Radiant One, in a garland of roses, put a pitcher of wine before it; it will sing Anacreon in such strains as to deafen every Epicurean.

”

“This man is worth his weight in gold!” cried Tigellinus.

“Put thy liberality with my weight,” answered Chilo, “or the wind will blow my reward away.”

“He would not outweigh Vitellius,” put in Caesar.

but on reaching home, I will take a bath in violet water, my golden-haired herself will anoint me; then after refreshment we will have sung to us that hymn to Apollo composed by Anthemius.

I said once to myself that it was not worthwhile to think of death, for death thinks of us without our assistance.

It would be a wonder if there are really Elysian fields, and in them shades of people. Eunice would come in time to me, and we should wander together over asphodel meadows. I should find, too, society better than this.

I am sorry also for Vinicius. But, though I was bored less of late than before, I am ready. In the world things are beautiful; but people are so vile for the greater part that life is not worth a regret.

He who knew how to live should know how to die.

Though I belong to the Augustians, I was freer than they supposed.” Here he shrugged his shoulders. “They may think that my knees are trembling at this moment, and that terror has raised the hair on my head;

Alarm was roused in all present; for Caesar, in communications with friends, did not employ pretorians usually, and their arrival at such times foreboded no good. Petronius alone showed not the slightest emotion, but said, like a man annoyed by continual visits—

“They might let me dine in peace.”

Then turning to the chief of the atrium, he said, “Let him enter.”

“Herd!” repeated Petronius, with contempt; “a people worthy of Caesar!” And he began to think that a society resting on superior force, on cruelty of which even barbarians had no conception, on crimes and mad profligacy, could not endure.

Rome ruled the world, but was also its ulcer.

The odor of a corpse was rising from it. Over its decaying life the shadow of death was descending.

… mentioned even among the Augustians, but never before had Petronius had a clearer view of this truth that the laureled chariot on which Rome stood in the form of a triumphator, and which dragged behind a chained herd of nations, was going to the precipice.

The life of that world-ruling city seemed to him a kind of mad dance, an orgy, which must end.

He saw then that the Christians alone had a new basis of life; but he judged that soon there would not remain a trace of the Christians. And what then?

While thinking of this, Petronius felt immensely wearied. Was it worthwhile to live, and live in uncertainty, with no purpose but to look at such a society?

The genius of death was not less beautiful than the genius of sleep, and he also had wings at his shoulders.

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

The hymn, at first low and muffled, rose more and more. The voices of men, women, and children were mingled in one harmonious chorus. The whole prison began to sound, in the calmness of dawn, like a harp.

But those were not voices of sorrow or despair; on the contrary, gladness and triumph were heard in them.

The soldiers looked at one another with amazement. The first golden and rosy gleams of the morning appeared in the sky.

Because of the number of prisoners, the games were to surpass in greatness anything seen up to that time.

Caesar wished to drown all memory of the fire in blood, and make Rome drunk with it; hence never had there been a greater promise of bloodshed.

The willing people helped guards and pretorians in hunting Christians. That was no difficult labor for whole groups of them camped with the other population in the midst of the gardens, and confessed their faith openly.

When this answer was repeated to Petronius, he said—

“Since Nero has compared himself to Brutus, there is no salvation.”

But he was sorry for Vinicius, and dread seized him lest he might attempt his own life. “Now,” thought the arbiter, “he is upheld by the efforts which he makes to save her, by the sight of her, and by his own suffering;

if she commanded him to go away and rest, he returned to Petronius, and walked in the atrium till morning. The slaves found him frequently kneeling with upraised hands or lying with his face to the earth.

He prayed to Christ, for Christ was his last hope.

Everything had failed him. Only a miracle could save Lygia; hence he beat the stone flags with his forehead and prayed for the miracle.

He raises you to Himself, and ye catch at this earth with your hands, crying, ‘Lord, save us!’ I am dust before God, but before you I am His apostle and vice-regent. I speak to you in the name of Christ.

Not death is before you, but life; not tortures, but endless delights; not tears and groans, but singing; not bondage, but rule!

I, God’s apostle, say this: O widow, thy son will not die; he will be born into glory, into eternal life, and thou wilt rejoin him!

And though he knew that they would conquer, though he knew what would grow out of their tears and blood, still his voice quivered with emotion when he was blessing them with the cross, and he said—

“Now I bless you, my children, as ye go to torture, to death, to eternity.”

They gathered round him and wept. “We are ready,” said they; “but do thou, O holy head, guard thyself, for thou art the vice-regent who performs the office of Christ.”

But Vinicius, stretching his hand toward the stars, said, groaning—

“I am Thine; take me instead of her.”

The sky began to grow pale in the east.

“A greeting, Furnius! A greeting, Leo! A greeting, Maximus! A greeting, Diomed!” Young maidens raised to them eyes full of admiration; they, selecting the maiden most beautiful, answered with jests, as if no care weighed on them, sending kisses, or exclaiming, “

Embrace me before death does!

” Then they vanished in the gates, through which many of them were never to come forth again.

“Peractum est!” sounded voices in the amphitheater.

The Gaul quivered a time, like a stabbed bullock, dug the sand with his heels, stretched, and was motionless.

Mercury had no need to try with heated iron if he were living yet. He was hidden away quickly, and other pairs appeared. After them came a battle of whole detachments. The audience took part in it with soul, heart, and eyes.

Chilo bared his last two yellow teeth at him and answered—

“My father was not a cobbler, so I cannot mend it.”

“Macte! habet!” called a number of voices; but others jeered on.

And in this manner they attacked him. He defended himself venomously, amid universal laughter. Caesar, clapping his hands, repeated, “Macte!” and urged them on. After a while Petronius approached, and, touching the Greek’s shoulder with his carved ivory cane, said coldly—

“This is well, philosopher; but in one thing thou hast blundered: the gods created thee a pickpocket, and thou hast become a demon. That is why thou canst not endure.”

The old man looked at him with his red eyes, but this time somehow he did not find a ready insult. He was silent for a moment; then answered, as if with a certain effort—

But the Apostle Peter seized his trembling white head with his hands, and cried in spirit—

“O Lord, O Lord! to whom hast Thou given rule over the earth, and why wilt Thou found in this place Thy capital?”

“So it seemed to me too; but still this people—”

“Canst thou expect mongrels to appreciate poetry?”

“But thou too hast noticed that they have not thanked me as I deserve.”

Petronius saw that he had taken the wrong road, that his words had produced an effect the very opposite of what he intended; so, to turn Caesar’s mind in another direction, he bent toward him and whispered—

“Thy song is marvelous, but I will make one remark: in the fourth line of the third strophe the meter leaves something to be desired.”

Nero, blushing with shame, as if caught in a disgraceful deed, had fear in his look, and answered in a whisper also—

To this Petronius answered, as if in an outburst of vexation and anger—

“Condemn me to death, O divinity, if I deceive thee; but thou wilt not terrify me, for the gods know best of all if I fear death.”

And while speaking he looked straight into Caesar’s eyes, who answered after a while—

“I have hated evil,” said the old priest.

“Christ’s command to love men was higher than that to hate evil, for His religion is not hatred, but love.”

“I have sinned in the hour of death,” answered Crispus, beating his breast. The manager of the seats approached the Apostle, and inquired—

“How, night? May the gods have mercy on thee. How night?”

“Night, ghastly and impenetrable, in which something is moving, something coming toward me; but I know not what it is, and I am terrified.”

“I have always been sure that there are witches. Dost thou not dream of something?”

“That is a new kind of weapon.”

“True. But can ye say that they die like common criminals? No! They die as if the criminals were those who condemned them to death⁠—that is, we and the whole Roman people.”

But others, struck by the justice of his remark, began to look at one another with astonishment, and repeat—

Their only care was that Christ should not separate them; and as each moment strengthened their conviction that He would not, they loved Him as a link uniting them in endless happiness and peace. While still on earth, the dust of earth fell from them.

The soul of each was as pure as a tear.

Under terror of death, amid misery and suffering, in that prison den, heaven had begun, for she had taken him by the hand, and, as if saved and a saint, had led him to the source of endless life.

She put her head on his breast, and they talked in low voices of love and of death. In thought and speech, in desires and hopes even, both were removed unconsciously more and more from life, and they lost the sense of it.

Both were like people who, having sailed from land in a ship, saw the shore no more, and were sinking gradually into infinity.

Both changed by degrees into sad souls in love with each other and with Christ, and ready to fly away.

But he turned to the multitude, and, raising his right hand, cried, or rather shouted, in a voice so piercing that not only the Augustians but the multitude heard him—

“Roman people! I swear by my death, that innocent persons are perishing here. That is the incendiary!”

And he pointed his finger at Nero.

He cared most for the Athenians, whom he feared. Other Augustians listened to this conversation with attention, so as to seize crumbs of the arbiter’s opinions, and give them out later on as their own.

“It seems to me that I have not lived up to this time,” said Nero, “and that my birth will come only in Greece.”

“Thou wilt be born to new glory and immortality,” answered Petronius.

All breasts ceased to breathe.

In the amphitheater a fly might be heard on the wing.

People could not believe their own eyes. Since Rome was Rome, no one had seen such a spectacle.

Her slender form, as white as if chiseled from alabaster, her fainting, the dreadful danger from which the giant had freed her, and finally her beauty and attachment had moved every heart. Some thought the man a father begging mercy for his child.

Pity burst forth suddenly, like a flame.

They had had blood, death, and torture in sufficiency. Voices choked with tears began to entreat mercy for both.

Vinicius smiled at him, and said: “She was on the horns of the wild bull; still Christ saved her.”

“Then honor Him with a hecatomb,” replied Petronius, with an accent of impatience, “but do not beg Him to save her a second time. Dost remember how Eolus received Ulysses when he returned to ask a second time for favoring winds? Deities do not like to repeat themselves.”

“When her health returns, I will take her to Pomponia Graecina,” said Vinicius.

“When her health returns, I will take her to Pomponia Graecina,” said Vinicius.

“And thou wilt do that all the better since Pomponia is ill; Antistius, a relative of Aulus, told me so. Meanwhile things will happen here to make people forget thee, and in these times the forgotten are the happiest. May Fortune be thy sun in winter, and thy shade in summer.”

Then he left Vinicius to his happiness, but went himself to inquire of Theocles touching the life and health of Lygia.