 Part 1 Chapter 7 of Quo Vadis, A Tale of the Time of Nero. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Quo Vadis by Henrik Zinkevich. Translated by Binyonant Melevsky. Part 1, Chapter 7. Before Actia the former favorite of Nero even the highest officials had been want to bow, but even then she did not care to interfere in questions of state, and if sometimes she used her influence over the young emperor it was only to ask his mercy on someones behalf. Modest and amiable, she won the gratitude of many, the enmity of none. Even Octavia could not hate her. To jealous rivals she seemed of little consequence. All knew that Actia still cherished a sad, painful passion for Nero. A love sustained not by hope, but by the remembrance of a time when Nero was not only younger and more devoted, but was also a better man. It was known that she dwelt only in these memories, and expected nothing of the future, and as there was no fear that Caesar would return to her, Actia was regarded as an inoffensive being. She was consequently troubled by none. Papia looked upon her as an obedient servant, so harmless that she did not even insist upon her leaving the palace. Out of regard for his former love, and because he had separated from Actia without a quarrel, and almost in a friendly fashion, Nero did not deny her a certain respect. When he gave her her freedom he allowed her to remain in the palace, gave her a special apartment with a separate bedroom and servants to attend her, and as in their day palace and Narcissus, though they were made freedmen by Claudius, were not only invited to that emperor's feasts, but as persons of influence occupied places of honor, so Actia was sometimes bitten to Caesar's table. Possibly this was done because of her attractive figure, which was a real ornament to the banquet. But in fact, in his choice of table companions, Nero had long since ceased to conform to the rules of decency. An impressive variety of persons of all classes and occupations assembled at his feasts, among them senators, especially those who were ready to play the fool, there were also patricians, both young and old, eager for pleasure, luxury and debauchery. These orgies were attended also by women, who, although they bore distinguished names, were not above donning discolored wigs at night and seeking adventures in the dark streets. Beside the eminent senators reclined priests, who, when the bumpers were down themselves, ridiculed their own gods. Here thronged a motley multitude of singers, actors, musicians, dancers of both sexes, verse writers declaiming their own verses and reckoning how many cisterces will be given them for praising Caesar, underfed philosophers following with greedy eyes the dishes as they were passed around, famous charioteers, gestures, storytellers and buffoons, every kind of nave and cheat brought into momentary notoriety by fashion or folly. Among them were many whose long hair concealed ears pierced as a sign of servitude. The most distinguished guests partook of the feast with Caesar, the remainder furnished them with amusement while they ate, eagerly waiting for the moment when the servants would allow them to fall upon the remnants of meat and drink. Such guests were supplied by Tijelinas, Vinicius and Vitelius, who were frequently obliged to provide them with clothes befitting Caesar's palace. Feeling more at home in it, the emperor liked society of this kind. The splendor of the court covered this rabble as if it were gilded and illuminated with its brilliance. The high and the low of this world, the descendants of glorious families, the descendants of the lowest of street paupers, true artists and the miserable scrapings of talent rushed into the palace to sate their eyes, blinded by almost unimaginable luxury, to come near the giver of all favors, mercies and riches, whose whim, if it could degrade, could also exalt to immeasurable heights. And now the day had come when Ligia must take part in a feast of that sort. Fear, uncertainty, agitation, quite natural after such a sudden change in her surroundings contended in her heart with a wild desire to show resistance. She was afraid of the people, the court and the tumult which appalled her till losing her self-control she feared the banquet of whose indecency she had heard from Aulus, Pomponia Grisina and their friends. In spite of her youth Ligia knew what vice was, for in those days the knowledge of evil came even to children. She knew that ruin threatened her in the palace. Pomponia had warned her of this when they parted. Possessed of a young and innocent heart and professing the high principles to which her foster mother had made her devoted, she vowed to her mother and herself and also to the divine teacher whom she not only believed in, but loved with her half-childish heart because of the blessedness of his teachings, the agony of his death and the glory of his resurrection to protect herself against this ruin. Assured that neither Aulus nor Pomponia Grisina would now be responsible for her actions, Ligia began to consider whether it would not be better to resist and not go to the feast. On the one side fear and alarm had spoken loudly in her soul, on the other a desire to display courage and firmness influenced her to run to martyrdom and death. For the divine teacher himself commanded one to act in this kind and had set the example. Pomponia had also told her that the most ardent of those who believed desire with all their soul attest of this kind and pray to meet it. While still in Aulus's house Ligia was at times seized with such a desire. She used to imagine herself a martyr with wounds on her hands and snow-white feet, transcendently beautiful and borne by white angels into the blue sky. And such visions delighted her imagination. In this there was much that was childish and also something of vanity which Pomponia condemned. But now when resistance to Caesar's will would be followed by severe punishment and the fancied tortures might be turned into realities, there was added to these imaginary tortures a curiosity mingled with fear to know exactly how they would punish and what tortures they would invent for her. When Ligia told Actia of what was disturbing her girlish heart she stared at her as astonished as if she had heard the voice of one in delirium, disobey Caesar's will, expose oneself at the very outset to his rage, a child incapable of understanding what it is doing could alone act thus. From what Ligia herself had said it was clear that she was no longer a hostage but a girl forsaken by her own people. No international law protected her and even if she had the protection Caesar was strong enough in a fit of rage to overlook such a protection. It had pleased Caesar to take her he could dispose of her as he wished. Henceforth she was in his power, a power greater than any other in the world. Put thy mind to rest on this point, said Actia persuasively to the young girl. I also have read the epistles of Paul of Tarsus. I also know that above the earth is God and a son of God who rose from the dead, but on the earth Caesar alone rules. Remember this, Ligia, I know that thy creed does not allow of thy becoming what I was and that to you as to the Stoics of whom Epictetus has spoken to me one is authorized to choose only death when one must choose between death and infamy. But how can Staufort tell that death as well as infamy threatens thee? Has thou not heard of the daughter of Sejanus? She was a virgin but at the command of Tiberius she had to pass through infamy before her death in order to keep the law against the punishment of virgins. Ligia, Ligia, do not anger Caesar. When the deciding moment comes when thou must choose between infamy and death then act as thy true faith commands but seek not destruction of thine own will and not provoke to anger the infernal merciless God. Ligia spoke with deep pity and even with fire. By nature nearsighted she put her gentle face close to Ligia's as if to verify the impression produced by her words. Ligia, throwing her arms with childish confidence about Ligia's neck, exclaimed, How good thou out, Ligia! Beased by the girl's praise and confidence, Actia pressed her to her bosom. Then, freeing herself from Ligia's embrace, she answered, My happiness and my joy have passed but I have done no evil. She began to move with rapid steps about the room and to speak bitterly as if to herself. No, and he was not wicked either. He considered himself a good man and wanted to be good. I know that better than any one. All this came afterwards when he stopped loving. Others have made him what he is, yes, others, and papia. Her eyelids filled with tears. For some time Ligia followed her with her blue eyes and then said, How's thou sorry for him, Actia? I am sorry," answered the Greek woman in a low voice. And she resumed her walk, her face overshadowed by sadness, ringing her hands as if in pain. Ligia continued to ask her timidly, Does love him yet, Actia? I do. Then she added, No one loves him but me. There followed a moment of silence in which Actia struggled to repress the emotions aroused by the memory. When finally her face resumed its usual expression of repressed grief, she said, Let us talk of thyself, Ligia. Drop the idea of resisting Caesar's will. It would be the act of a madman. And calm thyself. I have learned all about this house, and I think that nothing threatens thee at Caesar's hands. Had he commanded that thou shouldst be carried off for his own uses, thou wouldst not have been brought to the Palatine Palace. Popea is mistress here, and since she bore him a daughter, Nero is more than ever under her influence. Although it was Nero who gave the order that thou shouldst attend the feast, he has neither seen nor asked of thee. Consequently he cares nothing for thee. Perhaps he took thee away from Aulus and Pomponia merely to spite them. Petronius asked me to have a care for thee, and as thou knowest Pomponia asked the same in her letter, evidently they have talked a case over. Together, maybe he did so at her request. If so, if Petronius at Pomponia's request takes thee under his protection, nothing can befall thee. Who knows, he may have asked Nero to send thee back to Aulus's house. I do not know how much Caesar loves him, but I can assure you Caesar rarely disagrees with him. Ah, Actia! answered Ligia. Petronius was at our house before I was carried away, and my mother is convinced that Caesar did this at his suggestion. If that be true, why not to be afraid? said Actia. After a moment's thought she continued. Perhaps at a supper Petronius unwittingly mentioned in Nero's presence that there was a Ligian hostage in Aulus's house, and Nero, who guards his prerogatives jealously, demanded they surrender for the simple reason that hostages belong to Caesar. Besides, he does not like Aulus and Pomponia. No, I doubt whether Petronius would have resorted to such a method had he wished to take thee from Aulus's house. I will not say that Petronius is better than the others that surround Caesar, but he is different from them. Finally, is there no one who would intercede for thee? Didst they come acquainted at Aulus's with any of those near to Caesar? I haven't to see Vespasian and Titus. Caesar likes them not, and Seneca. It is enough that Seneca advises for Caesar to do the opposite. A blush overspread Ligia's bright face. And Vinicius? I do not know him. He has just returned from Armenia and is a relative of Petronius's. Dost suppose that Nero favors him, Vinicius is liked by everyone, and would he wish to intercede for thee? Yes. Actius smiled gently and said, Then thou shalt see him at the feast. At all events thou must be there. Only a child like thou could think anything else. Besides, if thou wishest to return to Aulus's house, then thou wilt have an opportunity to ask Petronius and Vinicius to intercede for thee, and get thee the permission to return home. If they were here they would assure thee that it would be madness and ruin to attempt to disobey. Caesar, we may suppose, might not notice thy absence, but if he did notice it, and thought that thou hath dared to disobey his will, nothing could save thee. Let us go, Ligia. At risk thou what noise fills the palace, the sun is setting, and the guests will soon begin to arrive. Thou art right, Actia," answered Ligia, I will follow thy counsel. Probably Ligia could not herself explain how much her decision was influenced by the desire to see Vinicius and Petronius, apart from the curiosity to be present at least once in her life at such a feast, to see Caesar and the court and the famous and the other beauties and all the unheard of luxury concerning which wonders were told in Rome. But Actia was right, and the girl acknowledged it. Go to the feast, she must. Ligia no longer hesitated. Necessity and common sense had united themselves to this hidden temptation. Actia took her to her private anointing-room to anoint and dress her. Although there was no lack of slave women in Caesar's house, and although Actia had many servants of her own, she decided out of sympathy for the girl whose innocence and beauty had touched her to dress her herself. In spite of her bereavement and her admiration for the epistles of Paul of Tarsus, it was evident that this young Greek woman had retained the old Hellenic spirit which set physical beauty above anything else in the world. As she undressed Ligia, she could not refrain from expressing her delight at the lines of her figure, at once delicate and plump, as if formed of roses and mother of pearl. Stepping back, she gazed with rapture upon this incomparable spring-like beauty. Ligia, she exclaimed, thou art a hundred times more beautiful than Popiah. Brought up strictly in Pomponia's house where a modest reserve was observed, even when the women were alone, the girl stood beautiful as a charmed dream, harmonious as a work of praxiteles or a poem, but embarrassed and blushing from mortification like a rose, her knees pressed together, her hands covering her breasts, her eyes closed. Quickly raising her hands she drew out the pin that confined her hair, and instantly, with a gentle shake of her head, her hair fell about her like a mantle. Approaching and touching her dark hair, Actia said, What wonderful hair thou hast! I shall not sprinkle it with gold powder where the braids overlap it gleams itself of gold. Only here and there will I sprinkle a little on, a very little. It will scarcely be noticeable. We'll look as if a ray of light passed through it. How beautiful must be thy native country where such girls are born. I do not remember it, answered Ligia, but Ursus has told me there are nothing there but forests, forest, forests. But flowers bloom in the forests, said Actia, as she dipped her hand in a vase containing verbena, with which she rubbed Ligia's hair. Then with a gentle pressure of the palm of her hand she rubbed her body with Arabian perfumed oil, and when she had finished, Actia put upon her a soft, gold-colored sleeveless tunic, over which was to go the peplum or snow-white robe of state. As however it was first necessary to arrange her hair, the Greek woman wrapped her in a loose white dressing gown. When she had made her sit down she gave her in charge of the women's slaves, and, stepping aside, observed the process of dressing. Two women put white sandals embroidered with purple on her feet, lacing them with golden laces crosswise. When her hair had been arranged they put upon her a state robe with beautiful soft folds. Then Actia, when she had hung pearls about her neck and touched her hair with gold powder, gave orders to begin her own toilette, the while not ceasing to gaze rapturously at Ligia. She was soon ready, and by the time the first litter arrived at the main gate, Ligia and Actia entered from the lateral portico whence might be seen the main entrance, the inner galleries and court surrounded by a colonnade of Numidian marble. Little by little the number increased of those who passed under the high arch of the gate over which the beautiful four-horse chariot of Ligias seemed to be bearing Apollo and Diana into the air. Ligia was astounded by the magnificence of the scene, of which the modest house of Alice could give her no conception. The last rays of the setting sun illumined the yellow Numidian marble which gleamed with a golden light and diffused rosy tints. Under the columns near the statues of the Deneides, of gods and heroes, past a throng of men and women themselves resembling statues draped in their togas, state robes and gowns, falling in picturesque folds on which glowed the light of the setting sun. The gigantic Hercules, his head still illuminated, but plunged to the chest in shadow, looked down on the multitude from aloft. Actia pointed out to Ligia the Senators in broad-bordered togas and colored tunics with half-moons embroidered on their sandals. The patricians and famous artists, Roman ladies dressed in Roman or Greek or fantastic oriental costumes, with their hair arranged in the form of towers, pyramids, or after the fashion of the statues of the goddesses, low on the head and ornamented with flowers. Many of the men and women Actia called by name, adding now brief and often terrible characterizations, which filled Ligia with fear, wonder, and confusion. A strange world opened before her, its beauty enchanted her eyes, but her young mind could not grasp the contradictions it presented. In the purple sunset light, among these rows of motionless columns vanishing in the distance, among these statue-like people there was a sense of great composure. It seemed that demigods free from care, undisturbed and blissful ought to live among the simple outlines of the marble, but Actia's low voice revealed the novel and terrible secrets of the palace. There in the distance is a portico, its columns and pavements still spotted with the blood which sprinkled the white marble when Caligula fell under the knife of Cassius Charia. There was his wife killed, and there was his child's head dashed against a stone. Under that wing a dungeon is hidden, in which the younger Drusus nod his hand for hunger. There was the elder Drusus poisoned, and there writhed in convulsions of terror Gemulus and Claudius. There, Germanicus, everywhere, these walls have heard the cries and death-grown of the dying, and these very people who are now hurrying to the feast clad in bright tunics, flowers and jewels, may be tomorrow condemned to death, may have on many a face a smile hides fear, anxiety and uncertainty for the following day, may have the hearts of these seemingly crowned, composed demigods are at this instant seized by flames of passion, avarice, and envy. Agitated Ligia could not follow Actia's words, and although this strange world more and more delighted her eyes, terror oppressed the girl's heart, and her soul was suddenly seized by an inexpressible boundless longing for her beloved Pomponia Grisina, for Alice's peaceful home, where ruled not crime but love. Meanwhile the throng of invited guests continued to pour in from the Apollonus quarter. The uproar and the cries of those who escorted their patrons were heard from behind the gate. The courtyard and the colonnades swarmed with Caesar's slaves and slave women, boys and Praetorian soldiers who were guarding the palace. Here and there among the white and dusky faces were seen the black faces of the Numidians, with their befeathered helmets and gilt rings in their ears. Loots and Scythera's, and despite the lateness of the autumn, bunches of flowers artificially grown were brought, and handlamps of gold, silver and copper. The ever-increasing hum of voices mingled with the splashing of the fountain, whose rosy eight jets falling from above on the marble, broke on the flagging with a sound as of sobbing. Actia stopped to talk, but Ligia continued to stare about her as if expecting to see someone. All at once she flushed. Between the columns appeared Venisius and Petronius. Beautiful, calm as gods in their white togas. They went to the spacious dining-hall. To the girl, discovering these two familiar and friendly faces, and especially that of Venisius among these strange people, it seemed that a heavy burden suddenly fell from her heart. She felt less alone. The inexpressible longing for Aulus's house, which a moment before had overwhelmed her, became all at once less unendurable. The desire to see Venisius and to talk with him allayed her fears. To no purpose did she rehearse all the ominous gossip she had heard of Caesar's house, and Actia's words and Pomponia's warnings, in spite of the warnings and all she had heard, she now felt that she should go to the feast, not only because she must, but because she wished to, for the simple reason that she should soon hear the dear and charming voice which spoke to her of love and happiness fit for the gods, which still sounded like music in her ears, and her heart fluttered with joy. Straightway this feeling of joy terrified her. It seemed that she was a traitor to those plain simple teachings in which she had been brought up, as well as to Pomponia Grisina and to herself. To go to the feast of necessity, and to be glad that such necessity exists, were two quite different things. She felt guilty, sinful, ruined. Despair seized her, tears came into her eyes. Had she been alone, she would have thrown herself on her knees, would have beaten her breast as she repeated, Guilty am I, Guilty am I! But Actia, seizing her by the arm, led her through the inner rooms of the dining-hall where the banquet was to take place. A veil fell over her eyes, there was a roaring in her ears, and she could scarcely breathe her heart beat so fast. She saw as in a dream the thousands of lamps gleaming on the tables and the walls, as in a dream she heard the shouts which greeted Caesar, whom she saw as across a mist. The shouting deafened her, the bright light blinded her, the perfumes intoxicated her, and in her bewilderment she barely noticed Actia as she placed her at the table and sat beside her. After an interval a familiar voice called to her from her other side. I greet thee, fairest of earthly maidens, and of the skies, I greet thee Divine Kalina. Ligia, recovering herself somewhat, looked round, Vinicius was sitting beside her. He did not wear his toga, as both convenience and custom required that it be laid aside before the feast. He was dressed simply in a tunic embroidered with silver palms. His bare arms were adorned above the elbows in Oriental style, with two wide golden bracelets. From the forearm the hair had been carefully removed, smooth but exceedingly muscular it was, the arm of a veritable warrior, made for the sword and shield. A crown of roses decked his head, and with his eyebrows meeting across his brow, and his beautiful eyes and smooth complexion, he looked like the personification of youth and vigor. His beauty so impressed Ligia that though the confusion she had at first felt had vanished, she was scarcely able to answer, I greet thee, Marcus. Fortunate are my eyes that behold thee, he added, fortunate my ears that hear thy voice, more delightful to me than the notes of flute or harp. If I were ordered to choose who should sit at my side, thee or Venus, thee would I choose my Divine Maiden. Vinicius gazed at her as if hastening to satiate his eyes with her beauty. He consumed her with his gaze. His glance glided from her face to her neck and her bare arms, lingered lovingly on the beauty of her figure. He admired her, enfolded her, devoured her, but with his longing there was mingled a suggestion of bliss, tenderness, boundless admiration. I knew that I should meet thee in Caesar's house, he continued, nevertheless when I saw thee such joy filled my soul that I felt as if I had fallen upon an unexpected fortune. Ligia, having recovered herself somewhat, and feeling that he was the only one among all these many people who was near her, began to talk with him and to inquire about everything that at first frightened or perplexed her. How did he know that he would see her at Caesar's? And why was she brought here? Why did Caesar take her away from Pomponia? She was terrified. She wanted to go home. She should die of anxiety and alarm but for the hope that he and Petronius would intercede for her with Caesar. Venicius said he had learned of her having been carried away from Aulus himself. He did not know why she had been brought hither. Caesar did not account for his actions or his orders to anyone. But she must have no fear, for he, Venicius, was at her side and would remain by her. He would rather lose his sight than not see her. He would rather give up his life than to leave her. She had become his soul, therefore he would guard her as his own soul. He would build in his house an altar to her as a divinity and would offer myrrh and aloes and in the springtime apple blossoms and early flowers. If she were afraid to stay in Caesar's house he could assure her she would not remain there. Although he spoke vaguely he did not say all he ought and sometimes said what was not true, yet there was a ring of truth in his words because his feeling for her was actually sincere. He could not master his feeling of downright pity for her. Her words went to his heart when she told him how grateful she was and assured him that Pomponia would love him for his kindness and she herself would be grateful to him all her life. Venicius was deeply touched. It seemed that never again would he be able to resist her wish. He shuddered. Her beauty intoxicated him. He desired to possess her, but he was conscious that she was also very dear to him and that, like a goddess, he might deify her. Besides, he felt an uncontrollable desire to talk of her beauty and of his love for her. The uproar of the feast increased. He therefore moved nearer to her and began to whisper words of tenderness and flattery which, coming from the depths of his soul, had the sound of music and the intoxication of wine. And they did intoxicate Ligia. Surrounded by these strangers he seemed ever nearer and ever dearer to her and deserving of her complete devotion and confidence. He soothed her. He promised to rescue her from Caesar's house. He promised that he would not leave her and would do her wishes. He had moreover, in Aulus's house, spoken of love and the happiness it could bring. Now he confessed frankly that he loved her and that she was dearer to him than all others. For the first time in her life Ligia heard words like these from a man. The more she listened, the more she felt that a something that had been slumbering in her was waking and that her whole being was seized as by a happiness she could not explain. A happiness in which boundless joy mingled with boundless apprehension. Her cheeks began to burn, her heart to beat, her lips parted with amazement. She was alarmed at hearing such protestations, but could not reconcile herself to losing a single word. Now she dropped her eyes. Now she turned her radiant face towards Fenicius, timidly as if beseeching him to say on. The noise of conversation, the music, the perfume of the flowers, the Arabian scents mounted to her head. It was the habit in Rome to recline at the table, but at home Ligia used to have her place between Pomponia and Little Aulus. Now near her side was reclining Fenicius, young, athletic, loving, ardent, and she, feeling that he was consumed with passion for her, felt at once shame and pleasure. A delicious weakness possessed her. Now she felt as if she would faint, now anguorous, as if falling into a dream. Fenicius was also affected by her proximity. His face grew pale, his nostrils dilated like those of an Arabian steed. It was evident that his heart was beating with unusual force under his tunic, his breath came short and heavy, and his voice was broken. For the first time he felt how near he was to her. His thoughts became confused, a fire raged in his veins which he had in vain tried to extinguish with wine. It was not wine that intoxicated him, but the beauty of her face, her bare arms, her girlish bosom moving under her gilt tunic, her whole body concealed under the folds of her robe. These intoxicated him more and more. At length he seized her by the arm, as he had already done once before at Aulus's, and drawing her near to him, whispered with trembling lips, I love thee, Kalina, my divine one! Marcus, let me go, said Ligia, but still gazing at her with eyes dimmed with passion he continued, my goddess, love me! At that instant the voice of Actia, who was reclining at the other side of Ligia, was heard saying, Caesar is looking at you too. A sudden anger at both Caesar and Actia seized him. Her words had broken the charm. Even a friend's voice at such a moment would have sounded disagreeable to the young warrior, but Actia, as he thought, had intentionally tried to interrupt his conversation with Ligia, raising his head and looking over Ligia's arm at the young freedwoman, he said angrily, the time has passed when thou didst used to recline at the feast at Caesar's side, and they say that thou art growing blind, how then canst thou see him? With a suggestion of sadness, Actia answered, nevertheless I can see him, he too is nearsighted, and is looking at you through his emerald. Whatever it was that Caesar had done had caused alarm even among those nearest to him. Venisius, alarmed in turn, recovered himself and fixed his gaze steadily towards Caesar. Unable at the beginning of the feast to see Caesar distinctly because of her agitation, Ligia ceased to look towards him, carried away by Venisius's presence and words, now turned towards Caesar frightened and curious eyes. Actia had told the truth, Nero leaning on the table with one eye closed was holding before the other a polished round emerald which he habitually used, and was looking at them. For an instant his glance met Ligia's and the maiden's heart quaked. As a child she had lived on Alice's Sicilian estate, and had heard from an old Egyptian slavewoman of the dragons that dwelt in the caves of the mountains, and what seemed to her that the greenish eyes of one of these dragons were gazing at her. Like a frightened child she grasped Venisius's arm, and in the quick-changing series of disconnected impressions which passed through her nothing definite could be distinguished. Was that he, the terrible and all-powerful Caesar? Ligia had never seen him before, but she imagined him to be quite different. She had fancied his having a dread-inspiring face and a stony expression of malice in his features. What she saw before her now was a large head joined to a thick neck which from a distance in spite of its dreadfulness looked like that of a child. An amethyst-colored tunic cast a bluish shadow upon his broad short face. His hair, after the manner set by Otho, was arranged in four curls. He wore no beard, as he had shortly before sacrificed it to Jupiter, for which all Rome thanked him, although it was said in secret that he did so because his beard, like that of his whole family, was red. There was something Olympian about his forehead, which projected over his brows. Consciousness of power was reflected in his contracted eyebrows. Under that forehead of a demigod was the face of a monkey, a drunkard, a mount-a-bank, a face vain ever reflecting his changing desires, fat and swollen, and in spite of his youth sickly and wrinkled. The face was ominous and most repulsive. Soon Nero laid the emerald on the table and ceased looking at her. Then the young girl saw his eyes clearly prominent, blinking in the strong light, glassy, unintelligent, like those of a dead man. Turning to Patronius, Caesar said, Is that the hostage with whom Vinicius is in love? Yes, that is she, answered Patronius. What is the name of her nation? Lydian. Does Vinicius consider her a beauty? Dress a rotten olive-root in a woman's state robe, and Vinicius will think her beautiful. But on thy face matchless judge of beauty. Already have I read thy opinion of her. Thou needest not declare thy verdict. Yes, thou art right. She is too withered and thin. A veritable puppy on a slender stock. But thou divine esthete. Esteemest the stock in women, and thou art three times, four times right. The face alone is not sufficient. Much have I learned in thy company, but have not attained to so true a vision, and I am ready to bet Tullius Cennicio his sweetheart that, although at a feast where all are in a reclining posture, it is difficult to judge the entire figure, nevertheless thou hast already said to thyself, She is too narrow in the hips. Too narrow in the hips, repeated Nero, blanking his eyes. A faint smile appeared on the lips of Petronius. Tullius Cennicio, who up to this moment had been conversing with Vestinius, or rather laughing at dreams in which Vestinius believed, now turned to Petronius, and though he had no idea of what they were talking about, he said, You are wrong. I agree with Caesar. Very well, answered Petronius, I have been holding that thou hast a glimmer of sins, but Caesar insists that thou art an unmitigated mess. Good! said Caesar, laughing, and turning down his thumb, as was the custom in the circus, to indicate that the gladiator had received a blow and was to be put to death. Vestinius, thinking that the conversation pertained to dreams, exclaimed, What I believe in dreams, and Seneca once told me that he believed in them also. Last night I dreamed that I had become a Vestil virgin, said Calvia Crispanilla, bending over the table. At this announcement Nero clapped his hands and all followed his example, for Crispanilla had been divorced several times, and was infamous throughout Rome for debauchery. She was not confused in the least, but calmly added, What is there to laugh at? They are all old and ugly. Rubria alone looks like a human being, so there would be two of us, though Rubria gets freckled in summertime. But admit, O pure Calvia, said Petronius, that thou couldst become a Vestil only in dreams. But if Caesar commanded, then I would believe that even the most improbable dreams might come true. Certainly they come true, said Vestinius. I can conceive that one may not believe in the gods, but how can anyone disbelieve in dreams? But predictions, asked Nero, it was predicted once that Rome should fall, and that I should reign over the entire Orient. Predictions and dreams are closely connected, answered Vestinius. Once a proconsul, another skeptic, sent a slave to the temple of Mopsus with a sealed letter which he forbade anyone to open. He wished to see whether the god could answer the question contained in the letter. The slave slept in the temple in order that a revelation might come to him in a dream. When he returned he related his dream as follows. I saw a youth bright as the sun, and he spoke but one word, black. The proconsul, hearing this, grew pale, and turning to his guests, disbelievers like himself, he said, Do you know what was written in the letter? Vestinius paused for a second and raised a goblet filled with wine to his lips. But what was in the letter? asked Sinicio. The letter contained this question. Which bull shall I sacrifice, a white or a black bull? The interest aroused by this narrative was interrupted by Vitalius, who had come to the feast in an intoxicated condition, and who without reason suddenly burst into senseless laughter. What is that keg of tallow laughing at? asked Nero. Laughter distinguishes men from animals, said Petronius, and he can furnish no other proof that he is not a wild boar. Vitalius suddenly stopped his laughter, smacking his lips greasy fat dishes and sauces. He looked inquiringly around among the guests as if he had never seen them before, and raising his cushion-like hands, he said in a hoarse voice, I have lost from my finger the nightly ring which I inherited from my father. Who was a cobbler? added Nero. Vitalius burst out again in uncontrollable laughter, and began searching for the ring in the robe of Calvia Crispanilla, whereupon Vestinius began to imitate the screams of a frightened woman, and Nigeria, a friend of Calvia, a young widow with the face of a child and the eyes of a wanton, said in a loud tone, he is searching for what he has not lost, and for what would be of no use to him even if he should find it, added Lucan. The uproar increased. Crowds of slaves passed around new courses. From enormous vases filled with snow and wreathed with ivy were brought out small vessels containing various kinds of wine, all drank freely. Upon the table and on the guests roses fell at intervals from the ceiling. Petronius implored Nero to add dignity to the feast with his song. A chorus of voices supplemented this request. Nero at first refused. It was not a mere question of courage, he explained, though this always failed him. The gods knew what the effort cost him each time he appeared before the public, but he was held up in the consciousness that something must be done for the sake of art. Besides, as the powers had gifted him with a voice, he could not allow the gifts of the gods to be wasted. He recognized that his very duty to the state forbade them to be wasted. But today he was really horse. On the previous night he had placed leaden weights on his chest, but all to no purpose. He was even thinking of repairing to Antium for a breath of sea air. Then Lucan urged him to sing in the name of art and humanity. It was known to all present that the divine poet and musician had composed a new hymn in honor of Venus, in comparison with which the hymn of Lucretius was as the howl of a yearling wolf. Let this feast be a genuine feast, so kind a ruler could not expose his subjects to such cruel tortures. Be not cruel, O Caesar! Be not cruel! repeated all seated near. Nero spread out his hands as a sign that he was compelled to yield. All faces immediately assumed an expression of gratitude and all eyes were turned towards Caesar. But first he gave a command that Papia should be notified that he was about to sing. He informed his auditors that she had not appeared at the feast because she was indisposed, but as no medicine brought her such relief as did his singing, he would regret to deprive her of this opportunity. Papia came immediately. She ruled Nero as if he were her subject. Nevertheless she did not dare to wound his self-love when he appeared in the character of a singer, a charioteer, or a poet. Beautiful as a goddess, she entered the room dressed like Caesar in a robe of amethyst color and wearing a necklace of large pearls stolen once on a time from Massinissa. She was golden-haired and dainty, though she had been divorced from two husbands, she had the face and manner of a virgin. She was received with applause and shouts of Divine Augusta. Ligia had never in her life seen so wondrous a beauty. She could scarce believe her eyes, for she knew that Papia Sabina was one of the most corrupt women in the world. She had heard from Pomponia that Papia had induced Caesar to murder his mother and his wife. She knew something of her terrible deeds from the gossip of the guests of Aulus. She had heard that Papia's statues had been overthrown at night-time in the city. She had heard of inscriptions whose authors had been condemned to severest punishment, which nevertheless still appeared every morning on the walls of buildings in the city. But in spite of all this the notorious Papia, who was looked upon by the Christians as the embodiment of evil and crime, appeared so sweet and beautiful to the maiden that she thought that so must look the angels and spirits in heaven. Ligia could not take her eyes from the lovely vision and an involuntary question slipped from her lips. O Marcus, can it be possible? Excited by wine and evidently impatient because her attention was distracted from him, he answered, Yes, she is beautiful, but thou art a hundred fold more beautiful. Thou dost not know thyself, or thou wouldst fall in love with thyself like Narcissus. Papia bathes in asses milk, but thou, I believe, Venus has bathed in her own milk. Thou dost not appreciate thy value, my sweet one. Look not at her. Turn thy eyes towards me, my heart's delight. Touch this goblet of wine with thy lips, and I will place mine on the same spot. Then Vinicius began to push himself closer and closer to Ligia, but she moved nearer to Actia. At this moment silence was commanded because Caesar had risen. The singer Diodorus had given him a lute of the kind called Delta, another musician called Terpnos, who was to accompany Caesar, came forward with an instrument called a nablium. Nero, resting the Delta on the table, raised his eyes. A hush of silence fell on the banqueting hall, broken only by the rustle of roses as they continued to fall from the ceiling. Caesar then began to sing, or rather to declaim, his hymn to Venus, to the accompaniment of two lutes. Neither his voice, though somewhat worn, nor his verses were bad. Ligia's conscience began to reproach her again, for the hymn, though in praise of the impure and pagan hymn, seemed beautiful to her, and Caesar himself, with a crown of laurel on his head, and his eyes raised to heaven, appeared to her more majestic and far less terrible and repulsive than at the commencement of the banquet. The hymn was received with thunders of applause. Exclamation of, oh, wonderful divine voice rose on all sides. Some of the women raised their hands and held them thus until the end of the singing, as if they had been terrified with delight. Others wiped the tears from their eyes. The entire hall buzzed like a beehive. Papilla, bending her golden head, pressed Nero's hands to her lips, and held it for some time in silence. Pythagoras, a young Greek of wonderful beauty, the same to whom later the semi-crazy Nero made the priests marry him, with the observance of all the rites, now knelt at his feet. Nero, however, looked attentively at Petronius, whose praises he esteemed above all. The latter said, As to the music, I believe that Orpheus must be at this moment as yellow from Envy as Lucan, who is here present. As for the verses, I regret that they are not worse, that I might find words fitting to praise them. Lucan did not feel offended at being charged with Envy. On the contrary, he cast a grateful glance at Petronius, and feigning ill-humour began to murmur, O cursed fate that destined me to live as a contemporary of such a poet. I might have a place in the memory of man and on Parnassus, but now I am quenched as is a nightlamp in the sun. Petronius, who possessed a wonderful memory, began to repeat portions of the hymn, to cite separate verses, and to analyze the finest expressions. Lucan, as if forgetting his Envy, joined his ecstasy to the words of Petronius. Nero's face reflected a high and unbounded vanity. He pointed out the verses which he considered the finest. At last he fell to consoling Lucan, telling him not to lose heart, for though no one could acquire gifts which were not bestowed upon him at birth, yet the worship which people gave to Jove did not exclude honor for the other gods. Then he arose to escort Poppia, who, being really ill, desired to withdraw. Caesar commanded the guests not to leave their places and promised to return. In fact he returned very shortly to stupify himself with the smoke of incense, and to gaze at the further spectacles prepared for the feast by himself, Petronius and Tijellinus. The guests were constrained to listen to more verses and dialogues in which extravagance took the place of wit. Then Paris, the famous mime, gave a representation of the adventures of Io, the daughter of Imakas. To the guests, and especially to Lygia, who was unused to such spectacles, it seemed that they were miracles and enchantments. Paris, by gestures of his hands and body, succeeded in expressing things that seemed impossible in a dance. His hands made dim the air, creating a bright cloud, living, trembling with voluptuousness, encircling the form of a maiden, thrilled with a spasm of delight. It was not a dance but a picture disclosing the secrets of love, enchanting and shameless. When at the end of the dance Corribantes, with a crowd of Syrian dancing girls, began a bachic dance to the accompaniment of harps, lutes, cymbals, and tambourines, a dance full of unbridled license, Lygia began to tremble with fear. It seemed to her that a living fire was burning her into ashes, and that a thunderbolt ought to strike the house, or that the ceiling should fall down upon the heads of the revelers. But from the golden net fastened to the ceiling the roses were still falling, and the now drunken Vinicius said to her, I saw thee at the fountain in the house of Aulus, and fell in love with thee. It was at dawn, and thou didst think that nobody saw thee, yet I saw thee, and I see thee thus yet, though that robe conceals thee from my eyes. Cast aside thy robe as Crispinilla has done. Behold, gods and men are thirsting for love. There is nothing else in the world. Lay thy head on my breast and close thine eyes. The blood beat oppressively in Lygia's hands and temples. She felt as if she were crawling into a pit, and as if Vinicius, who before had appeared so devoted and so worthy of all trust, instead of saving her, was drawing her down towards the abyss. She felt angry with him. She began to fear the feast, and Vinicius, and herself. A voice like that of Pomponia rang imploringly into her ears. Oh, Lygia, save thyself! But at the same moment something told her that it was already too late, that the one whom such a flame had embraced, who had looked on at everything that had happened at this feast, whose heart had beaten as hers had while listening to the words of Vinicius, and who shivered as she did when he came near her was lost forever. She began to grow weak. It seemed to her that she must faint, and that something terrible must follow. She knew that under pain of Caesar's wrath no one might rise until he rose, but even did this prohibition not exist, she now had not strength enough to withdraw. It was far yet to the end of the feast. Every now and then slaves brought on new courses, and filled the goblets unceasingly with wine. On a platform there appeared two athletes to give the guests an exhibition of wrestling. The contest began. The powerful bodies of the wrestlers, shining with olive oil, blended in one mass. Bones cracked in their iron arms, their teeth gritted ominously between their set jaws. At times the quick dull thump of their feet beat on the saffron-strewn floor. Again the athletes became motionless silent so that it seemed to the spectators that they saw before them a group chiseled from stone. The eyes of the Romans followed with delight the motions of terribly exerted backs, thighs, and arms. But the struggle was soon ended. Croto, the master and founder of the School of Gladiators, was rightly considered the strongest man in the Empire. His opponent began to breathe quickly, then his breathing became choked, his face assumed a blue tent, and finally blood flowed from his mouth and he fell. A burst of applause crowned the ending of the struggle. Croto, placing his feet on his opponent's breast, crossed his great arms and looked about him with the eyes of a conqueror. After the athletes appeared men who mimicked beasts and their voices, conjurers and buffoons, to whom little attention was paid, for wine had dimmed the eyes of the spectators. The feast gradually became a drunken and disillute orgy. The Syrian damsels who had participated in the Bacchic dance now mingled with the guests. The music changed to wild and disordered outbursts of harps, lutes, Armenian symbols, Egyptian symbols, trumpets, and horns. Some of the guests desiring to speak ordered the musicians to withdraw. The atmosphere filled with the odor of flowers and the perfume of oils, with which beautiful boys had anointed the feet of the guests, permeated also with the odor of saffron and the exhalations of the guests, became stifling. The lamps burned with a dim flame, the wreaths drooped on the heads of the guests, their perspiring faces grew pale. Vitelius fell under the table, Nigeria, stripping herself to the waist, dropped her drunken, childlike face upon the breast of Lucan, who also drunk, began to blow the golden powder from her hair, and followed with delighted eyes the particles as they floated upwards. Vestinius, with drunken iteration, repeated for the tenth time the answer of Mopsis to the proconsul's sealed letter. Tullius, who was mocking at the gods, said in a voice broken by hiccups, if the spheros of Xenophonies is round, then such a god might be kicked along like a barrel. But Domitius' offer, a hardened criminal and spy, waxed Rothy at this discourse, and in his wrath poured Valernean wine over his tunic. He had always believed in the gods. People might say that Rome would perish. There were those that said it was perishing now, and no wonder, but if this should come to pass it was only because youth had lost its faith, and without faith there could be no virtue. The stern virtues of former days were neglected. It did not seem to occur to anyone that Epicurians could not resist the barbarians. And as for himself, he grieved that he lived in such times, and that he was compelled to seek forgetfulness in distractions, otherwise his grief would kill him. After moralizing thus, he drew towards himself a Syrian dancer and showered kisses upon her neck and shoulders with his toothless mouth, whereupon Mimeus regulus laughed, and raising his bald head with his wreath all awry, exclaimed, Who says that Rome is perishing? Nonsense! I, as consul, know better. The consuls are watchful. Thirty legions are guarding the peace of the Roman Empire. Placing his hands upon his temples, he began to shout in a voice that filled the whole hall, Thirty legions! Thirty legions from Britain to the Parthian boundaries! Then suddenly he became absorbed in thought, and touching his forehead with his fingers said, Mayhem, there are thirty-two! At last he rolled under the table, and was soon engaged in heaving up flamingo-tongues, roast-and-chilled mushrooms, locusts in honey, fish, meat, and everything that he had eaten or drunk. But the number of the legions who guarded the safety of Rome did not pacify Domitius. No, no, he cried, Rome must perish, for faith is lost, and so are the old stern virtues. Rome must perish, and it is a pity, for its life is pleasant, Caesar is the greatest of Caesars, the wine is good. Oh, how sad! And dropping his head on a Syrian girl's shoulder he burst into tears. What is the future life? Achilles was right. It is better to be a slave in this world, lightened by the sun, than a king in the Sumerian gloom. Besides, it is a question still whether there be any gods, though incredulity is the ruin of our youth. Lucan, meanwhile, had blown all the golden powder from the hair of Nigeria, who had fallen into a drunken sleep. Then he took garlands of ivy from a vase before him and wound them about her. Then he looked about him with a pleased and inquiring glance. He decked himself with ivy also, and repeated in a voice of deep conviction, I am no man but a fawn. Petronius was not drunk, but Nero, who drank moderately at first in order to spare his divine voice, drank goblet after goblet towards the end, and had become drunk. He wished to sing more of his verses, this time in Greek, but he had forgotten them, and by mistake sang an ode to Anachryon. Pythagoras, Diodorus, and Terpnos accompanied him, but as they could not keep time, they ceased. Nero, as a critic and an aesthetic, was enchanted with the beauty of Pythagoras, and began to kiss his hands. Such beautiful hands, he thought, I have seen but once, and whose were they? Then his face blanched with terror. They were those of his mother, Agrippina. Terrible visions possessed him forthwith. They say, said he, that she wanders by moonlight along the sea, around the bay eye, and bowly, and ever she walks, walks, walks, and appears to be seeking for something, and when a boat approaches she looks at it and disappears, but the fisherman on whom she has fixed that look dies forthwith. Not a bad theme for a poem, said Petronius. Vestinius, stretching his neck like a crane, whispered mysteriously, I believe not in gods, but I do believe in spirits. Nero paid no attention to their words and continued, I celebrated the Lemuria, but I have no wish to see her. It is now five years ago, I had to condemn her for she set an assassin to murder me, and had I not been the quicker, ye would not have heard my song tonight. We thank thee in the name of Rome and of the whole world, exclaimed Domitius Affer, whine and let the tempins resound. The uproar was renewed, Lucan entwined with Ivy, arose and began to shout, I am not a man, I am a fawn, and I live in the woods, ye ho ho ho! Caesar was now completely intoxicated, men and women all were drunk. Venetius was no soberer than the other guests. Besides Ed's passionate desire, there arose in him an inclination to quarrel. This happened always when he drank too much, his dark face paled. He stuttered when he spoke, though his voice was loud and commanding. Kiss me! Today, to-morrow, it is all the same, I am tired of waiting. Caesar took thee from our list to give thee to me. Does thou understand? To-morrow at evening I will sin for thee. Thou must be mine! Kiss me! I will not wait for to-morrow. Give me thy lips at once!' He attempted to embrace Ligia, but Actia defended her, and she herself resisted, exerting the remnant of her strength, for she felt she was on the brink of ruin. In vain did she attempt with both hands to remove his hairless arm. In vain did she implore him in a voice trembling with grief and fear to take compassion on her. Sated with wine, his breath floated about her, and his face was pressed close to hers. This was no longer the kind Venetius, almost dear to her heart, but a foul and drunken satyr who filled her with abhorrent fear. She grew weaker and weaker. In vain did she writhe and turn away her face to escape his kisses. He rose and caught her in both arms, and, pressing her head to his breast, he began, panting heavily, to press her white lips with his. At this moment some invincible power uncoiled his arms from her neck as easily as though they had been the arms of a child, and Venetius himself was thrust aside as a dried branch or a faded leaf. What had happened? Venetius rubbed his astonished eyes. Before him stood the gigantic figure of the Lydian, Ursus, whom he had met at the house of Aulus. The Lydian stood calmly, but his blue eyes gazed so strangely at Venetius that the blood congealed in the latter's veins. Then Ursus, with a measured step, quickly conducted his queen out of the sitting-hall. Actia followed him. Venetius sat for a moment as if petrified. Then, springing towards the entrance, he shouted, Lydia! Lydia! But desire, astonishment, rage, and wine combined to cut his legs from under him. Staggering, he seized the bare arm of one of the bacchanals, and, with blinking eyes, asked her what had happened. She, with a smile in her eyes, handed him a goblet of wine and said, Drink! Venetius drank, and fell down upon the floor. The majority of the guests were now lying under the table, snoring in drunken slumbers, giving forth the excess of wine, and still upon the drunken consuls and senators, upon the poets and philosophers, and upon the dancing damsels and the patrician ladies, upon the members of a society still dominant, but whose soul was dead and whose end was near, roses fell continually from the golden net fastened to the ceiling, and out of doors the dawn was breaking. CHAPTER VIII. No one stopped Ursus, nor did any one inquire what he was doing. Such guests as had not fallen under the table no longer retained their bodies. Therefore the servants, seeing the giant carrying a guest out on his arm, mistook him for a slave in charge of a drunken mistress. Moreover Actia followed him, and her presence removed all suspicion. In this fashion they made their way from the banqueting hall into the adjoining chamber and thence into the gallery that led to Actia's room. Ligia had become so weak that she hung as if dead on the arm of Ursus. But when the cool, fresh morning air blew on her face, she opened her eyes. It was growing brighter and brighter. Walking along the colonnade they turned to a side portico, leading out not into the courtyard, but into the palace gardens, where the tops of the pines and the cypresses were reddening in the morning light. This section of the building was entirely empty. The echoes of the music and sounds of the revel gradually became indistinct. It seemed to Ligia that she had been carried from hell up into the bright light of God above. There was something, then, besides that repulsive banqueting hall. There were the sky, the morning stars, light and peace. The maiden suddenly burst into tears. Pressing herself against the arm of the giant, she repeated between her sobs, Take me home, Ursus, home to the house of Alice. Let us go, answered Ursus. They had now reached the small hall belonging to Actia's apartments. Ursus placed Ligia on a marble bench near a fountain, while Actia strove to calm her and urged her to go to sleep. She assured her that there was no longer any danger, as the drunken guests would sleep till evening. But Ligia could not calm herself for a long time, and pressing both hands against her temples, repeated like a child, Let us go home to Alice. Ursus was ready to carry out her wish. Although Praetorians stood about the gates, still they could not prevent him from passing. The soldiers would not halt out going guests. The space before the arch was crowded with litters. Guests were now swarming out. Nobody would detain them. They would pass out with the crowd and go directly home. Anyway, he must not question. What the queen commands must be done. He was there to execute her orders. And Ligia repeated, Yes, yes, Ursus, let us go. But Actia began to reason with them both. True, they could go away. Nobody would detain them. But it was forbidden to flee from Caesar's house. And who did so was guilty of insulting the majesty of Caesar. They might go away. But at evening a centurion would carry a sentence of death to Alice and Pomponia Grisina. And Ligia would be brought back to the palace. Then nothing could save her. Should Alice and his wife receive her in their house, they would surely be punished. Ligia let fall her hands. There was no other alternative. She must choose between her own ruin or that of Plotius. In going to the banquet she had hoped that Venetius and Petronius would intercede for her with Caesar and return her to Pomponia. Now she knew that it was they who had induced Caesar to take her away from the house of Alice. There was no help. Only a miracle could save her from the abyss, a miracle and the power of God. Actia, she cried in despair, didst thou hear what Venetius said that Caesar had given me to him and that he would send slaves this evening to carry me to his house? I heard, said Actia, and dropping her hands to her side she became silent. The despair which expressed itself in Ligia's words found no echo in her breast. She herself had been Nero's favorite. Her heart, though kindly, was not able to appreciate the shame of such a relation. A former slave, she had become too much used to the law of slavery. Besides, she still loved Nero. Should he desire to return to her she would stretch out her arms to him and rejoice in her good fortune. Seeing clearly that Ligia must become the mistress of the young and handsome Venetius, or expose the family who had reared her to ruin, she could not understand how the maiden could hesitate. In Caesar's house, said she, thou wilt be no safer than in that of Venetius. And it did not occur to her that though her words were true, they meant, be reconciled with your lot and become the mistress of Venetius. Ligia, who still felt upon her lips his kisses burning with desire and glowing like coals, flushed with shame at the very remembrance. Never, she burst out, never will I remain here, nor in the home of Venetius. Actia marveled at her excitement. Is Venetius so hateful to you? she asked. Tears choked Ligia so she could not answer. Actia drew her to her breast and strove to calm her. Ursus breathed heavily and clenched his enormous fists. Loving his queen with a dog-like fidelity he could not bear to see her weeping. In his wild Ligian heart arose a desire to return to the banqueting hall and to strangle Venetius. And if need be, Caesar himself. But he was afraid lest he should sacrifice his mistress thereby. Nor was he certain in his mind that such an act which seemed to him quite natural was entirely befitting a follower of the crucified Lamb. Actia, in the midst of her caresses, repeated her question. Is he so hateful to thee? No, answered Ligia. I cannot hate him because I am a Christian. I know Ligia. I learned also from the epistles of Paul of Tarsus that you are forbidden to defile yourselves and to fear death more than sin. But tell me, does your faith permit you to cause the death of others? No. How then can't thou bring Caesar's vengeance on the house of Aulus? There was a moment of silence. The deep abyss yawned before Ligia. Then the freed woman added, I ask because I am sorry for thee, and because I am sorry for Pomponia and for Aulus and their son. I have lived long enough in this house to know what the wrath of Caesar means. No, thou must not flee from here. There is but one recourse left for thee. Beg Venetius to return thee to Pomponia. But Ligia fell on her knees to implore someone else. This followed her example, and they united in prayer in the house of Caesar as the dawn broke through the windows. Actia for the first time witnessed such a prayer. She could not avert her eyes from Ligia, who, with profile turned towards her, without stretched hands, and eyes raised towards the sky, seemed there to seek for safety. The morning rays touching her dark hair and white robe were reflected in her eyes. In the glory of the dawn she herself transformed by the light. In her pale face, in her parted lips, in her uplifted hands and eyes shown a supernatural exaltation. And then Actia comprehended why Ligia could not become the mistress of any man. It was as if before the face of Nero's former favorite was drawn aside, the corner of a veil that concealed a world entirely different from the one she knew. She was touched by that prayer offered up in the house of crime and corruption. A moment before she had felt that there was no help for Ligia. Now she began to believe that some unlooked-for thing would happen, that aid would come, so powerful that Caesar himself could not resist it, that a winged army would descend from heaven to rescue the maiden, or that the sun would spread its rays under her and to draw her up to itself. She had heard of many miracles that had occurred among the Christians, and Ligia's prayer somehow suggested that all the stories were true. At length Ligia arose with a face brightened by hope. Ursus rose also, and sitting on the bench looked at his lady, waiting for her to speak. Her eyes grew misty, and two large tears rolled slowly down her cheeks. May God bless Pomponia and Aulus, said she. I must not expose them to danger. Consequently, I shall never see them again. Turning to Ursus, she told him that he alone was left her in the world, that he take the place of a father, a guardian, and a protector. They could not seek shelter in the house of Aulus, for he would thus be exposed to the wrath of Caesar. On the other hand, she could not remain in the house either of Caesar or of Vinicius. Let Ursus take her, let him conduct her out of Rome, and hide her somewhere where she could not be found by Vinicius or his slaves. She would follow him everywhere, even beyond the seas, beyond the mountains, to the barbarians, where the name of Rome was unheard and where the power of Caesar did not reach. Let him take her and save her, for beside him nobody was left to her. The Lydian, in sign of his readiness and obedience, knelt and embraced her feet. Disappointment was evident on the face of Actia, who had looked for a miracle. Was it possible that this was all that would come out of the prayer? To escape from the house of Caesar was to commit a crime against his majesty. Such a crime must be avenged. Even should Lydia succeed in escaping, Caesar's wrath would fall on Aulus and Pomponia. If Lydia desired to escape, let her escape from the house of Vinicius. Then Caesar, who was averse to busying himself with the affairs of others, might not wish to help Vinicius in pursuing her. In any case, such a proceeding would not be a crime against the majesty of Caesar. Lydia's thoughts were as follows. Aulus would not even know where she had gone, Pomponia would not know. She would escape not from the house of Vinicius, but on the way to it. Under the influence of intoxication, Vinicius had told her that in the evening he would send his slaves for her. Undoubtedly, he had told the truth which would not have escaped him had he been sober. It was evident that he himself, or perhaps Patronius, had spoken to Caesar and had secured his promise to deliver her on the following evening. If they forgot to send for her today they would send to-morrow. But Ursus would save her. He would come and take her out of the litter, as he had borne her from the banquet hall, and together they would wander over the whole world. Ursus was invincible, not even that terrible gladiator who yesterday had wrestled at the banquet hall was able to overcome him. But, as Vinicius might send a number of slaves, it would be better for Ursus to go at once to Bishop Linus for aid and counsel. The bishop, undoubtedly, would take compassion on her. He would not abandon her to the mercy of Vinicius. He would send Christians with Ursus to rescue her, and would conduct her to a place of safety. Then Ursus would take her out of the city and hide her from the power of Rome. Her face flushed and wreathed itself in smiles. She was encouraged as if the hope of rescue had already turned into reality. Throwing herself on Actia's neck and pressing her beautiful lips to the Grecian's cheek, she murmured, I will not betray me, Actia wilt thou? By the shade of my mother, answered the freedwoman, I will not betray thee, but pray to thy God that Ursus may succeed in rescuing thee. The blue eyes of the giant, simple as a child, grew bright with happiness. He had not been able to form a definite plan, though he had put all his simple mind to the task. But he would follow such orders as were given to him, whether by day or by night made no difference to him. He would go to the bishop, for the bishop reads in the sky what should and should not be done. Even without the bishop's aid he could summon a party of Christians. Had he not plenty of acquaintances among slaves, gladiators, and free people, both in the subura and beyond the mountains, he could collect a thousand or two. He would rescue his mistress and take her out of the city and abide with her. They would go to the end of the world, even to his native land where no one had ever heard of Rome. Here he gazed into space as if looking into the far distant future and exclaimed, To the forest! Ah, what a forest! What a forest! But he shook his dreams from him. Yes, he would go immediately to the bishop, and in the evening he, with a hundred followers, would watch for the litter. What difference if she be escorted by slaves or by Praetorians? Better for no man to feel the weight of his fist, even if clad in armor. Iron is not so strong. Should he strike the iron heavily, death would enter the skull beneath. But Ligia, raising her finger, said with childlike earnestness, Ursus, thou shalt not kill. The giant put his huge fist to the back of his head and rubbing his neck with great seriousness began to mutter. He must rescue the maiden. She herself had said that it was now his turn. He would do his best. If anything should happen he would repent. He would pray to the innocent lamb for pardon. He would implore the mercy of the crucified lamb. He did not wish to offend the lamb, but who could tell. His fists were so powerful. Infinite tenderness beamed from his face, but wishing to conceal his emotion, he knelt and said, Now I will go to the bishop. Actia embraced Ligia and burst into tears. Again she comprehended that there was a world where even suffering allowed of more happiness than all the excesses and luxuries in the house of Caesar. Once more a door revealing light had been opened, but at the same time she felt that she was unworthy to cross the threshold, and two tears glistened upon her drooping eyelids. She took a certain pleasure in the very thought that she was sacrificing plenty and comfort for the truth, that she was about to expose herself to hardships and uncertainties. Blended with this feeling was, perhaps, an alloy of childish curiosity as to what life was like in remote regions among barbarians and wild beasts. But for the most part she was inspired by deep and earnest faith. She was convinced that she was following the behests of the Divine Master, and that henceforward he would watch over her as an obedient and faithful child. And if so, what harm could befall her? Should sufferings come, she would bear them for his sake. Should death overtake her, he would receive her. When Pomponia died they would be reunited for ever. Many a time in the house of Aulus she had worried her childish brain with the thoughts that she, a Christian, had made no sacrifices for the crucified one, of whom Ursus spoke so tenderly. Now the time had come to realize her fancies. Ligia felt really happy, and strove to tell Actia of her joy, but the young Grecian could not understand her. To leave everything behind, to abandon home, plenty, the city, gardens, temples, porticoes, all that was beautiful, to leave a sunny land and the loved ones therein, and for what purpose, to run away from the love of a young and handsome nobleman? Actia's mind could not comprehend this. There were times when she scented some concealed purpose in her actions, may have some great mysterious happiness, but the matter was not at all clear in her mind, especially as dangers threatened Ligia which might destroy her life. Actia was naturally timid, and she thought with dread of what the future might have in store, but she wished not to trouble Ligia with her fears. As the day was clear and the sun shone into the hall, she began to coax the maiden to rest after her sleepless night. Ligia agreed, and they entered a spacious bed-chamber whose luxurious furniture was a reminder of Actia's former relations with Caesar. Here they lay side by side, but Actia, despite her weariness, could not sleep. She had long been unhappy, but now she was possessed by a new uneasiness. Previously existence had seemed to her merely sad and hopeless, now it appeared to her shameful. She became more and more confused in mind. The door that revealed light was now open and now closed, but even when it opened her eyes, unused to the light, were dazzled, and she could distinguish nothing clearly. She defined that in the light there was unbounded happiness, compared with which all else was of small value, so that even if Caesar, for example, should set aside Papia and again love her, Actia, this would not now bring her unalloyed happiness. Then the thought struck her that Caesar, whom she loved and regarded as a demigod, was in reality no better than any slave, and his palace, with its columns of Numidian marble, no better than a heap of stones. Thoughts such as these, which she could scarce comprehend, began to torment her. She desired to sleep, but tormented by doubts she could not close her eyes. Then, thinking that Ligia, threatened by so many uncertainties and perils, could not sleep either, she turned to speak to her of her flight which was to take place in the evening. But Ligia was sleeping peacefully. Into the darkened room, through a curtain not entirely drawn, stole some bright rays in which floated golden dust-moats. By the light of these rays, Actia looked upon Ligia's delicate face, resting on her bare arm, her closed eyes and her lips slightly parted. She was breathing regularly, as people breathe when sleeping. She sleeps, she is able to sleep, thought Actia, she is still a child. Nevertheless it was born into her that this child preferred to flee rather than to become the favorite of Vinicius, that she preferred want to infamy, wandering to a luxurious house, to robes, beautiful ornaments, feasts, the music of lutes and citharas. Why? Actia looked more closely at Ligia as if to read an answer in her sleeping face. She looked at her beautiful forehead, at her arched eyebrows, at her dark lashes, her parted lips, at her heaving bosom, and she thought, how different she is from me. Ligia appeared a miracle to her, as some divine vision, a creation of the gods, a hundredfold more beautiful than all the flowers in Caesar's garden and all the statues in his palace. But in the Grecian's heart there was no envy. On the contrary, at the thought of the dangers that threatened the maiden, she melted into pity. A mother's love was awakened in her. Ligia appeared to her not only as beautiful as a dream, but as very dear to her heart, pressing her lips to the dark hair she reigned kisses upon it. But Ligia slept on calmly as if at her own home, under the care of Pomponia, and she slept long. It was past noon when she opened her blue eyes and began to look with astonishment about the bed-chamber. Evidently she was surprised that she was not in the house of Aulus. Is it the Actia? she said at last, seeing in the darkness the face of the Grecian. Yes, Ligia, is it evening? No, my child, but noon has passed. Has not Ursus returned? Ursus did not promise to return. He said that he would watch with the Christians for the litter. True. They left the bedroom and went to the bath, where Actia bathed Ligia. Then they breakfasted together, and the Grecian conducted Ligia to the gardens of the palace, there being no danger, as Caesar and his guests were still asleep. For the first time in her life Ligia beheld these beautiful gardens, full of cypresses, pines, oak, olive and myrtle trees, amid which arose a veritable population of white motionless statues. Mirror-like streams gleamed brightly, groves of roses were in bloom, sprinkled with the spray of fountains, entrances to picturesque grottoes were overgrown with ivy and vines, silver-colored swans floated on the waters, amid statues and trees wandered gazelles from the deserts of Africa, and bright-plumed birds from all the known regions of the world. The gardens were empty, save that here and there slaves were digging and chanting in undertones, and others enjoying a recess were sitting on the banks of the streams or beneath the shade of oaks, in the quivering light that broke in between the leaves, and others again were watering the roses or the pale, lily-colored crocus blossoms. Actia and Ligia walked for some time, taking in all the wonders of the garden, and though the mind of Ligia was disturbed with other thoughts, she was too much of a child to resist the pleasure, curiosity and wonder raised by the scene. She thought that if Caesar were only good he might live very happily in such a palace and such gardens. Somewhat tired at length, the two friends sat down on a bench almost hidden by cypresses, and talked of what weighed most on their minds, Ligia's flight in the evening. Actia was far less hopeful of success than Ligia. At times it seemed to her a wild and impossible project. Her pity for Ligia increased. It seemed to her that it would be much safer to appeal to the mercy of Vinicius. She questioned Ligia as to how long she had known Vinicius, and whether he could not be persuaded to return her to Pomponia. But Ligia shook her head. No, she said, in the House of Aulus he was very different. He was kind, but since last night's feast I fear him, and I prefer to flee to the Ligians. But, inquired Actia, thou didst like him in the House of Aulus. Yes, answered Ligia, hanging her head. Thou art not a slave as I was, said Actia meditatively. Vinicius might marry thee. Thou art a hostage, and the daughter of a king. Aulus and Pomponia loved thee as their own child. They will, without doubt, adopt thee. Vinicius may marry thee. But Ligia answered in a low, sad voice. I would rather fly to the Ligians. Does thou wish me to go to Vinicius, awaken him if he sleeps, and tell him what I have just told thee? Hark, and my dear, I will go to him and say, Vinicius, Ligia is the daughter of a king and a beloved child of Aulus. If thou lovest her, return her to the House of Aulus, and from that house take her as a wife. But the maiden repeated, in a voice so low that Actia could scarcely hear it, I would rather fly to the Ligians. Further conversation was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. Before Actia could see who was coming, Papia Sabina made her appearance, with a small retinue of women slaves. Two of them held over her head bunches of ostrich feathers fastened to golden wires. These served both as fans and as a protection against the sun. Before Papia, an Egyptian woman, black as ebony, with breasts swollen from milk, bore in her arms a child, wrapped in purple, fringed with golden embroidery. Actia and Ligia rose. They had expected that Papia would pass without paying any attention to them. But she stopped in front of them and said, Actia, the bells sewn by thee on the doll were poorly fastened, and the child tore one of them off and put it into her mouth. Fortunately Lilith noticed it in season. "'Pardon me, O Divine One,' answered Actia, crossing her hands on her breast and bowing her head. Papia gazed at Ligia and inquired, "'What slave is this? She is no slave, O Divine Augusta, but a foster child of Pomponia Grisina and the daughter of a Ligian king whom he surrendered as a hostage to Rome. Has she come to visit thee?' "'No, Augusta, since day before yesterday she has been staying in the palace. Was she at the banquet last night?' She was, Augusta. At whose command?' "'At Caesar's command.'" Papia gazed more attentively at Ligia. The maiden stood with bowed head, raising her bright eyes to her with curiosity, and now dropping them again. A frown appeared on the brow of Augusta. Jealously guarding her beauty and power, she lived in constant dread lest some fortunate rival might destroy her as she had destroyed Octavia. Therefore every beautiful face that appeared in the palace excited her suspicion. With a critical eye Papia scrutinized Ligia's form took in every feature at a glance and became frightened. She is a nymph thought she and Venus herself must have given her birth. Suddenly a new thought came to her which never before had occurred to her mind at the sight of a beautiful woman, the thought that she herself was growing old. Wounded vanity and alarm seized Papia. Many fears flashed through her mind. What might happen if Caesar met this maiden during the daytime in the sunlight? She was not a slave, but the daughter of a king. A barbarian it is true, but still a king. Immortal gods! She is as beautiful as I and younger. The frown on her brow deepened. Beneath their golden lashes her eyes shone with an evil light. Turning to Ligia she asked in a calm voice. Has thou spoken with Caesar? No, Augusta. Why dost thou prefer to be here rather than in the House of Aulus? It is not my choice, lady. Petronius induced Caesar to take me from Pomponia. I am here against my will. Dost thou wish to return to Pomponia? This question Papia asked in a softer and milder voice, and Ligia's heart bounded with a new hope. Lady, she said, stretching out her hand, Caesar promised to give me to Vinicius as a slave. Pray intercede for me and return me to Pomponia? Then it was Petronius who induced Caesar to take thee from Aulus and give thee to Vinicius. Yes, lady, Vinicius will send for me to-day, but thou art kind have pity on me. She knelt and, seizing the border of Papia's robe, awaited an answer with a beating heart. Papia looked at her a moment, her face lit up with a malicious smile. I promise, she said, that thou to-day will become the slave of Vinicius. Then she went her way, fair as a dream, but evil. To the ears of Ligia and Actia came only the wail of the infant who began to cry without any apparent reason. Ligia's eyes also dimmed with tears, but she took Actia's hand and said, Let us return, help is to be hoped for only from whence it can come. They returned to Actia's apartments, where they remained until evening. When darkness fell and the slaves brought in lighted torches, the faces of both women were pale. At every moment their conversation was interrupted. They both listened to hear if any one were approaching. Ligia said repeatedly, that though grieved to part with Actia, she preferred that all should end to-day, for Ursus without doubt was waiting for her in the darkness. Her breathing grew quicker from emotion and alarm. Actia hurriedly collected all the gems she could find, and fastening them in a corner of Ligia's robe begged her to accept these gifts as an aid to escape. At times there fell a deep silence, interrupted by deceptive sounds. It seemed to both that, at one time, there was a noise behind the curtain, then again the distant cry of an infant arose, and now they seemed to hear the barking of dogs. Suddenly the curtain of the antechamber was thrust aside. A tall dark man, his face pitted with smallpox, glided like a phantom into the chamber. Ligia, at the first glance, recognized Atacinas, one of Vinicius's freedmen, whom she had seen at the house of Aulus. Actia screamed. Atacinas bowed his head and said, Vinicius greets the divine Ligia, and bids her to come to a feast in his house, which he has adorned with green. The lips of the maiden grew white. I go, said she. Then in farewell she threw herself into the arms of Actia. CHAPTER X The house of Vinicius was, in fact, adorned with the green of myrtle and ivy, garlands of which hung on the walls and doors. The columns were reefed about with grapevine. The great hall, whose entrance was covered with a purple woollen cloth, as a protection from the cool night air, was as clear as daylight. Lamps of eight or twelve flames were burning. These took the forms of vessels, trees, birds, or statues, with flames jutting from receivers full of perfumed oil. They were made of alabaster, or gilded Corinthian bronze, not so beautiful as the famous lamp from the Temple of Apollo, which Nero possessed, but nevertheless with a beauty of their own, fashioned as they all had been by celebrated masters. In some the lights were shaded by Alexandrian glass, or a transparent stuff from India of red, blue, yellow, or violet color, so that the entire hall was filled with many colored rays. The air was heavy with the odor of tuberoses, to which Vinicius had become accustomed while living in the Orient. The entire house, through which moved male and female slaves, was brilliant with lights. The table in the banquet room was laid for four persons, for, besides Vinicius and Ligia, Patronius and Chrysothymus were to attend the feast. Vinicius had taken the advice of Patronius not to go for Ligia himself, but to send Atacinas with the permission accorded by Caesar, and receive her in his own home himself, with friendliness and even with marks of special consideration. Thou were intoxicated yesterday, said Patronius. I had my eyes on thee. Thou didst behave to her like a quarryman from the Alban Hills. Be not so rough, and remember that good wine should be drunk slowly. Know too that to desire is sweet, but to be desired is sweeter. Chrysothymus had a different opinion, but Patronius, calling her his Vestal and his Dove, began to explain the difference which must exist between an experienced charioteer and a youth who holds the reins for the first time. Then, turning to Vinicius, he said, Win her confidence, make her happy, treat her with magnanimity. I care not to be present at a gloomy feast. Swear to her, even by Hades, that thou wilt return her to Pomponia, then see to it that tomorrow she prefers to remain in thy house. Pointing to Chrysothymus, he added, For five years I acted thus with this flighty dove, and I cannot complain of her adoracy. Chrysothymus coquettishly tapped him with her fan of peacock feathers, and said, Did I not resist thee, sater? Out of regard for my predecessor, but work thou not at my feet, to put rings on thy toes? Chrysothymus looked involuntarily at her feet, on the toes of which jewels actually glittered. Both she and Patronius laughed. Vinicius did not listen to their banter. His heart was beating uneasily under the splendidly decorated robe of a Syrian priest, which he had donned for Ligia's reception. They must have left the palace already, said he, as if speaking to himself. They must, said Patronius in confirmation, In the meantime shall I tell you about the predictions of Apollonius, of Tyanna, or shall I relate the history of Rufinus, which I have not finished. I know not why. Vinicius was interested neither in Apollonius nor in Rufinus. He could not take his mind from Ligia, though he felt it was more befitting to receive her at home than to go to the palace, as if he wished to take her by force, still he regretted that he had not gone, for then he would have seen her sooner and could have sat in the darkness by her side in a double litter. Meanwhile slaves brought in a tripod ornamented with rams heads, and bronze dishes filled with live coals over which they sprinkled pieces of myrrh and gnarred. Now they are turning towards the Carini, said Vinicius again to himself. He has not the patience to wait, he will run to meet them and will probably miss them, exclaimed Chrysothamus. Vinicius smiled in an embarrassed manner and said, I have patience, and I will wait. He dilated his nostrils and panted, seeing this Patronius shrugged his shoulders and said, There is not a farthing's worth of philosophy in him. I shall never succeed in making a man of this son of Mars. But Vinicius did not even hear his words. They are already in the Carini, he murmured. Indeed the litter in which Ligia lay was really turning towards the Carini. The lamp-bearers were in front, the carriers were on both sides of the litter. Atacinas followed just behind them. They moved slowly, for the streets were not lighted, and the lanterns hardly sufficed to show the way. The street was uncommonly crowded, almost from every turning people poured out in groups without torches or lamps and clad in dark mantles. Some of them mingled with the slaves accompanying the litter, others in greater numbers approached from the opposite direction. Some staggered as if drunk, and for some moments the advance grew so difficult that the lamp-bearers began to shout, Make way for the noble tribune, Marcus Vinicius! Ligia, throwing aside the curtain, looked upon these people clad in dark mantles and trembled with emotion. Hope and fear mingled in her breast. That is he! That is Ursus and the Christians! The struggle will begin soon! She murmured with quivering lips. Help me, O Christ! Save me! Atacinas, who at first had not noticed the uncommon animation in the streets, now became alarmed. Something unusual was taking place. The lamp-bearers had to keep up their shouting, Make way for the litter of the noble tribune! From all sides unknown people had crowded around the litter to such an extent that Atacinas ordered the slaves to drive them away with clubs. Suddenly a cry rang out. Immediately all the lights were extinguished. Around the litter a confused struggle began. Atacinas perceived that an attack had been made upon the litter, this frightened him. It was known to all that Caesar, with a crowd of attendants, frequently amused himself with such attacks in the Sabura and in other parts of the city. It was known that Nero sometimes returned from these nocturnal adventures, with black and blue spots. But those who defended themselves were condemned to death, even if of senatorial rank. The quarters of the guards, whose duty it was to preserve order in the city, were not far away, but on such occasions the guards feigned to be deaf and blind. Meantime the struggle thickened about the litter. People struck and trampled upon one another. It flashed upon Atacinas that he had best save Ligia and himself and leave the rest to their fate. Drawing the maiden from the litter, he took her in his arms and attempted to escape in the darkness. But Ligia began to shout, She had left the palace in a white robe, hence she was plainly visible. Atacinas, with his free arm, was just covering her with his mantle, when suddenly terrible claws were dug into his neck and a crushing mass, like a stone, came down upon his head. He dropped in a twinkling, as an ox might drop beneath the butt end of an axe before an altar of Jove. Most of the slaves were already lying on their backs, the rest had scattered in the darkness. On the spot only the broken litter remained. Ursus bore Ligia to the Sobora, his companions following him and dispersing gradually at the street corners. The slaves began soon to assemble before the house of Venetius and stood there debating. Not daring to enter, they decided to return to the scene of the attack, where they found a few dead bodies, among them that of Atacinas. He was still quivering, but after a moment of violent convulsion he expired. The slaves lifted him up and carried him towards the house of Venetius, but they stopped at the gate, dreading to inform their master of what had happened. Let Gulo be our spokesman, whispered a few voices. His face is bloody, as are ours, and our master loves him. He runs less risk than any of us. Gulo, a German slave who had nursed Venetius, and who had descended to him from his mother, the sister of Petronius, said, I will inform him, but let us all go in together. Let not his wrath descend on my head alone. Meantime the patience of Venetius was exhausted. Petronius and Chrysothemus ridiculed him as he walked with quick steps up and down the room, repeating, They should be here already. They should be here already. He would have gone out to meet them, but Petronius and Chrysothemus held him back. Suddenly steps were heard in the vestibule, and into the hall there rushed a crowd of slaves who began to utter mourning cries. Venetius rushed towards them. Where is Ligia? He cried in a strange and terrible voice. Then Gulo came forward, the blood streaming down his face. In a trembling voice he exclaimed, Behold our blood, master! We defended her! Behold, blood, master, blood! But ere he could finish, Venetius seized a bronze lamp, and with one blow shattered his skull. Then clutching his own head with both hands, he tore his hair and repeated in a hoarse voice, Who is me? Who is me? His face grew livid, his eyes started from his head and foam appeared at his mouth. Whips! he roared in a terrible voice. Master, um, have mercy on us! implored the slaves. Petronius arose, an expression of disgust upon his face. Let us go, Chrysothemus, he said. If thou wishes to look upon raw flesh, I will command a butcher's stall to be opened in the Carini. And he left the room. Throughout all the house hung with ivy and prepared for feasting. There rang groans and the whistling of whips. These sounds lasted almost until the morning.