 CHAPTER XIV It was known in Rome that, on his way, Caesar would stop at Ostium to see the largest ship in the world, which had recently brought wheat from Alexandria, thence he would go to Antium by the shore-road. The orders had already been given. At the Ostium gate, therefore, there assembled at early morn a great multitude, consisting of the Roman rabble and of all the nations of the world, come to feast their eyes with the sight of Caesar's retinue, of which the populace could never get their fill. The road to Antium was neither long nor difficult. Antium itself was filled with palaces and villas sumptuously equipped. Everyone could find their everything required for comfort, or the most exquisite luxury of the time. It was Caesar's custom, however, to take with him all the things in which he delighted, from musical instruments and artistic furniture, to the statues and mosaics which he would arrange in order, even where he stopped but a short while, either for rest or bodily refreshment. Therefore, multitudes of servants accompanied him on every journey, as well as detachments of Praetorians and Augustalis, each of whom had his individual following of slaves. At early dawn of that day, shepherds from the Campania, their legs swathed with goatskins, their faces sunburnt, drove five hundred she-asses through the gates so that paupia might have her customary bath in their milk on the morrow at Antium. The mob found a hilarious delight in watching the long ears swaying amid clouds of dust and in listening to the whistle of the whips and the wild cries of the shepherds. When the she-asses had passed, crowds of boys rushed out upon the roadway, swept it clean and strewed it with flowers and pine needles. Word ran through the crowd, and swelled it with a sense of local pride that the entire road to Antium would be covered with flowers plucked from private gardens in the neighborhood, or purchased at high prices from women dealers at the Mugionis Gate. With the passing of the morning hours the crowds grew greater. Many had brought their entire families, and, to temper the tedium of waiting, they spread provisions on stones intended for the new temple of Ceres, and ate their noonday meals under the glowing sun. Groups gathered here and there, the presiding genius in each of which was some traveled personage who could talk learnedly of Caesar's present journey, his past journeys, and of traveling in general. Sailors and veterans told strange tales which they had heard during foreign campaigns about countries where Roman foot had never been planted. Townspeople who had never gone beyond theapian way listened open-mouthed to the marvels related of India, of Arabia, and of Archipelagos surrounding Britain, where Brierius had chained the sleeping Saturn on a certain ghost-haunted island, of northern seas whose waters were of jelly-like consistency, and of the hissing and roaring which the ocean emitted when the setting sun descended into its waters. Such stories found ready faith among the rabble as they had already found faith even with such men as Pliny and Tacitus. They spoke also of that ship which Caesar was to stop to gaze at, a ship which had brought grain enough for two years, besides four hundred passengers, the same number in the crew, and a multitude of wild animals which were to be sacrificed at the summer games. These stories created a general goodwill towards Caesar who not only fed his people, but amused them. Everybody prepared to give him an enthusiastic greeting. A detachment of Numidian horsemen belonging to the Praetorian Guard were the first to arrive. Their uniforms were yellow, girt at the waist with crimson. In their ears were huge earrings which reflected a golden gleam upon their burnished black faces. The points of their bamboo lances shone in the sun like flames. After them came a brilliant procession. The multitude pressed forward to catch a closer glimpse, but a detachment of Praetorian infantry lined both sides of the road from the gateway so as to crush them back. They're moved by wagons bearing tents of purple, red, and violet, snowy white tents of muslin interwoven with golden threads, oriental carpets, tables of lemon wood, pieces of mosaic, kitchen utensils, and cages with birds from the east, south and west, whose brains and tongues were destined for Caesar's table, vessels of wine and baskets of fruit. Such objects as might be bruised or broken in the wagons were born by slaves on foot. Hence there were hundreds of men carrying vessels and statuettes of Corinthian bronze. Two special bands of slaves were assigned Etruscan or Grecian vases to others, golden or silver vessels or goblets of Alexandrian crystal. Each band was separated from the next one by a detachment of Praetorians either on horseback or on foot, and each had overseers armed with whips whose lashes ended in lumps of lead or iron. The procession, consisting of men bearing all these different objects with intense care and preoccupation, took on the aspect of a solemn religious function, and the resemblance grew still more vivid when the musical instruments of Caesar and his court followed, harps, Grecian lutes, liars, formingas, sithers, flutes, long-twisted horn trumpets and cymbals passed by in bewildering profusion. That sea of instruments with all the gold, bronze, precious stones, and mother of pearl gleaming in the sun might have given the impression that Apollo or Bacchus was journeying through the world. Lordly chariots followed. These were filled with acrobats, with dancers, male and female, artistically grouped and holding wands in their hands. Then came slaves devoted not to service but to shameful uses. Children, male and female, selected throughout Greece and Asia Minor, with long tresses or curly hair gathered in golden nets, whose lovely faces resembling cupids were thickly overlaid with cosmetics, so that their delicate complexions might not be tanned by the winds of the Campania. And now came a praetorian detachment of gigantic sacambrians, bearded with red and flaxen hair and blue eyes. Roman eagles were born in front of them, together with inscribed tablets, statues of German and Roman gods, and finally statues and busts of Caesar. From beneath the skins and armor of these soldiers appeared arms and shoulders, sunburnt and massive, like machines of war fit to wield the mighty weapons which they bore. The earth seemed to yield beneath their measured and heavy tread. Conscious of the strength which, if need be, they could turn against Caesar's self, they glanced contemptuously on the rabble in the street, evidently forgetting that many of them had come to the city in chains. But there was only a small handful of these men, for the main body of the praetorians remained encamped to watch over the city and preserve order there. When they had passed there were led by the lions and tigers which Nero had ordered to be trained, so that if at any moment the temptation should seize him to imitate Bacchus he might attach them to his chariots. Arabs and Hindus led them in chains of steel, so fully concealed by encircling flowers, that it seemed as though the animals were led in garlands of flowers. Tamed by skillful trainers they gazed at the crowd through green and sleepy eyes, but from time to time they lifted their giant heads and sniffed up through wheezing nostrils the exhalations of the surrounding humanity, licking their chops the while with rasping tongues. Now came Caesar's chariots and litters, large and small, gold or purple, inlaid with ivory pearls or sparkling with precious stones, then another small detachment of praetorians in Roman armor, consisting entirely of Italian volunteers, then crowds of gorgeously clad servants and lads. And at the last came Caesar himself, his approach was heralded from afar by multitudinous shouts. In the crowd was Peter the Apostle, once in his lifetime he wished to catch a sight of Caesar. He was accompanied by Ligia, her face covered by a thick veil, and by Ursus, who strength afforded the surest protection for the young girl in the midst of that disorderly and disillute crowd. The Ligian seized a stone destined for the temple and brought it to the Apostle, so that by ascending it he could see better than the others. The crowd murmured at first when Ursus pushed it apart, as a ship cleaves through the waves, but when they noticed the size of the stone, which four of the strongest athletes could not have lifted, murmurs were changed into shouts of wonder. Look, look! resounded from all sides. But now Caesar had appeared. He sat in a tent-like chariot drawn by six white Idumean stallions shod with gold. The sides of the tent were purposely left open so that the crowds could see Caesar. Others might have found place in the chariot, but Nero, wishing to center all attention upon himself, passed through the streets alone, saved for two deformed dwarves laying at his feet. He was clad in a white tunic and a toga of the color of Amethyst, which cast a bluish tent upon his face. A laurel wreath was on his head. His body had grown considerably in bulk since his departure from Naples. His face had widened. Beneath his lower jaw hung a double chin, so that his mouth, always too close to his nose, now seemed almost as if glued to that feature. His thick neck, as usual, was covered by a silk kerchief. This he arranged from time to time with a fat white hand, whose overgrowing red hair looked almost like gory spots. Yet he would never allow the hair to be plucked by the manicures, because he was told that trembling of the hand would ensue with consequent detriment to his loot-playing. Infinite vanity, as always, was depicted on his face, tempered by weariness and suffering. It was the face at once of a tyrant and a mount-a-bank. He turned his head from one side to the other, blinked his eyes, and listened intently to the greetings of the crowd. A storm of shouts and applause came first. Hail God-like Caesar! Hail Emperor! Hail Conqueror! Peerless one! Son of Apollo! Apollo himself! At these words he smiled, but occasionally a scowl flitted across his face. The Roman rabble, fond of jesting and confident in their own numbers, always took their fill of sarcasms, even against the triumphal heroes whom they loved and honored. It was known that at one of Julius Caesar's entrances into Rome they had shouted, Citizens, hide your wives! The bald-headed libertine is approaching! Nero's overweening vanity could not brook the least jesting or criticism, yet with the shouts of applause mingled cries of, Bronzebeard, what has thou done with thy flaming beard? Art thou afraid that it would set fire to Rome? Men who so shouted little knew what a prophecy lay hidden in their jest. Caesar was not much disturbed by their cries as he no longer wore a beard. He had sacrificed it some years ago to place it in a golden cylinder and dedicate it to the Jupiter in the capital. But there were others in the mob who, hidden behind heaps of stones and the corners of temples, shouted, Matricide, Nero, Orestes, Alcmaeon, and others still, where is Octavia? Yield up thy purple! Popia, who followed immediately after him, attracted howls of, Yellowhair, a nickname which was applied to public prostitutes. Nero's trained ear caught all these various exclamations. He lifted his polished emerald to his eye as though wishing to discover and remember the speakers. In this act his glance rested upon the Apostle Peter standing on the stone. The two men looked at each other, nobody in all that splendid retinue nor in all those innumerable crowds could have imagined that two powers of the earth were confronting each other, one of which would soon pass away like a bloody dream, while the other, the old man in coarse cloth, would seize in eternal possession the city and the world. And now Caesar had passed. Popia, whom the people loathed, followed him in a sumptuous litter borne by eight Africans. A raid as Nero was a raid, in robes of the color of amethyst, with a thick layer of cosmetics on her face, motionless, pensive, indifferent, she looked like an evil yet beautiful goddess carried in a procession. A whole court of servants, male and female, followed and then a line of wagons filled with articles for the toilette and for general domestic use. The sun had already passed the noonday hour, when the procession of the Augustalis began, a brilliant, gleaming, endless line drawn out like a serpent. The indolent Petronius, saluted with kindly indulgence by the crowd, was carried in a litter with his godlike slave. Tijolinas drove in a chariot drawn by ponies adorned with white and purple feathers. He rose repeatedly from his chariot, and stretched his neck to see if Caesar were yet ready to give him the longed-for signal to take a seat in the imperial tent. Among the others, Licinianus Piso was greeted with applause, Vitalius with laughter, Vatinius with contemptuous whistling. Towards the consuls, Licinius and Licinius, the crowd behaved with indifference, but Tullius Sanicio, whom for some unknown reason they loved, and Vestinus got their plaudits. The court was innumerable. It seemed as if all that was wealthiest, most brilliant and most illustrious in Rome were migrating to Antium. Nero never travelled save with thousands of chariots. His following always surpassed a legion in numbers, and a legion in his day rarely fell below twelve hundred men. Hence the crowd could point to Domitius Afer and the decrepit Lucius Saturninus and Vespasian, who had not yet gone on his campaign against Judea, whence he returned to receive Caesar's crown, and his sons, and Lucan and Anius Gallo and Quintianus, and a multitude of women renowned for wealth, beauty, luxury, and debauchery. The eyes of the multitude turned from these familiar faces to the harness, the chariots, the horses, the strange equipments of the servants selected from all the nations of the world. In that flood of splendor and power one hardly knew what to look at. Not only the eye but the mind was dazzled by the gleaming of gold, purple, and violet, by the sparkling of precious stones and the glitter of brocade, mother of pearl, and ivory. It seemed that the very sunbeams had been absorbed into that abyss of splendor, and though there were not lacking wretched beings in the crowd, with sunken stomachs and with hunger smitten eyes, the spectacle not only inflamed their envy and their greed, but filled them also with delight and pride as a manifestation of the power and invincibility of Rome, to which the world contributed and before which it knelt. For who at that time would have ventured to doubt that that power would endure for all ages and would outlast all nations, or that in the whole world there was nothing which could resist it? Vinicius, in the rear of the procession, caught sight of the Apostle and Ligia. Leaping from his chariot he was at their side greeting them with beaming face. He spoke hurriedly as one who has no time to lose. Thou hast come! I know not how to thank thee, O Ligia! God could not have sent me a better omen. I salute thee even while bidding thee farewell, but the farewell is not for long. I shall place relays of Parthian horses all along the way, and every free day I shall be by thy side until I get leave to return. Farewell! Farewell, Marcus! cried Ligia. In an undertone she added, May Christ lead thee and open thy soul to the teachings of Paul. Overjoyed that she took thought for his speedy conversion, he replied, Be it as thou sayest, Paul prefers to travel with my men, but he is with me, and will be my comrade and my teacher. Lift thy veil, my beloved, that I may see thee once more before my journey. Why art thou so thickly veiled? She lifted her veil, her bright face and marvelously smiling eyes were turned full upon him. Does thou not like the veil? she asked. There was a slight savor of girlish pertness in her smile. Venisius was delighted. Tis bad for my eyes, he said. They would gaze on thee forever until death. Ursus, he added, turning to the Ligian, watch her as the pupil of thine eye, for she is my mistress as well as thine. He seized the girl's hand and pressed it to his lips. The bystanders were amazed. They could not understand such signs of honour from a resplendent Augustali to a maidenclad in a simple dress, almost that of a slave. Farewell! He departed quickly to catch up with the now disappearing rear of the procession. The Apostle Peter made an unnoticed sign of the cross after him. The good Ursus poured out praises upon him, glad to see his young mistress listening with pleasure and beaming gratitude upon him. The retinue moved on, occasionally disappearing in clouds of golden dust. They gazed long after it, however, until Demas the Miller approached, the same who employed Ursus in nightly toil. After kissing the hand of the Apostle, he pressed them to break bread with him, explaining that his house was near the Emporium. You must be hungry and weary, he said, after spending the greater part of the day at the gate. They went with him. They ate and rested at his house. In the evening they returned to the trans-tiber, with the intention of crossing the Emillian bridge, which cut through it, passed over the publicus naut, going over the avantine, between the temples of Diana and Mercury. The Apostle Peter gazed from this height upon the buildings surrounding him and on the others, vanishing far away into the gloom. Suddenly he pondered over the power and the immensity of this city, to which he had come to preach the word of God. Up to this time he had seen the Roman legions and governors in the many lands through which he had wandered, but they were merely separate members of this power, which to-day for the first time he had seen summed up in the person of Nero. That city, enormous, predatory, disillute, rotten to the marrow of its bones, unassailable in its superhuman power, Caesar himself, fratricide, matricide, oxoricide, followed by a retinue of bloody ghosts, no less in number than his court, debauché and mountenbank, who was yet the lord of thirty legions, and through them of the whole earth, the courtiers covered with gold and purple, uncertain of the marrow, but to-day more powerful than kings. All these things together seemed to him to make up a hellish kingdom of injustice and depravity. His simple heart marveled how God could bestow such inconceivable might upon Satan, that he should have given him the earth to knead it as he willed, to turn it over and trample upon it, to squeeze tears and blood out of it, to revolve it as with a whirlwind, to storm it like a tempest, to consume it like flames. His apostle heart was alarmed by these thoughts, in spirit he spoke to the master. Oh Lord! he cried, what shall I do in this city to which thou has sent me? Seas and lands belong to it, the beasts of the field and the living creatures in the water belong to it, other kingdoms and cities belong to it, and the thirty legions which guard them. Ah, oh Lord! him but a fisherman from a lake! What shall I do? How shall I overcome its malice? He raised his gray, trembling head towards heaven, praying and calling from the depths of his heart to his Divine Master, full of sadness and fear. Ligia interrupted him. The whole city is as if on fire, she said. And in very truth the sun set that day in a strange fashion. Its enormous shield had now sunk half way behind the Janiculum Hill. The entire expanse of heaven was filled with a fiery glow. From the place in which they stood their glance embraced a vast expanse. A little to the right they saw the long extending walls of the Circus Maximus, above it the towering palaces of the Palatine, and in front of them beyond the Ox Market and the Velabram, the top of the capital with the Temple of Jupiter. But the walls, the columns, and the tops of the temples were flooded in that golden and purple light. Such of the river as could be seen from a distance seemed to flow as with blood. As the sun sank lower behind the mountains, the glow flushed redder like the reflection of a conflagration. And it increased and widened until finally it embraced the seven hills, whence it poured over the whole surrounding country. The entire city seems on fire, repeated Ligia. Peter shaded his eyes with his hand. The wrath of God is upon it, said he. End of Part 2, Chapter 14. Part 2, Chapter 15 of Quo Vadis, A Tale of the Time of Nero. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Quo Vadis by Henrik Singh Kevich. Translated by Binyan and Milevsky. Part 2, Chapter 15. Venetius to Ligia. The slave flagon by whom I send thee this letter is a Christian, so he is one of those who are to receive freedom at thy hands. Oh, beloved, he is an old servant of our house. I can place full confidence in him, and have no fear that the letter will fall into other hands than thine. I am writing from Lorientum, where we have stopped on account of the heat. Otho, former husband of Popiah, possessed here a splendid villa which he donated to her, and she, although divorced from him, held it no shame to retain the gift. When I think of those women who surround me now and then of thee, it seems to me that from the stones thrown by Dukalion must have arisen various species of people absolutely unlike, and that thou belongest to the species that was born from Crystal. I admire and love thee with all my soul, so that I wish to speak only of thee. I must restrain myself in order to tell thee something about the journey, and how I am faring, and what is the news of the court. Well, Caesar was the guest of Popiah, who had secretly prepared for him a splendid reception. She invited few of the Augustalis, but Patronius and I were summoned. After the noonday meal we sailed in golden boats over the sea, which was calm as if it were sleeping, and as blue as thine eyes, oh my divinity. We rode ourselves, for it evidently flattered Augusta to feel that she was rode by men of consular dignity, or their sons. Caesar, standing by the rudder in a purple toga, sang a hymn, which he had composed last night in honor of the sea. He and Diodorus arranged the music. Indian slaves in the other boats accompanied him on seashells, while all around appeared numerous dolphins, as if really enticed from the depths of the sea by the music. Notice thou what I did, I thought of thee and longed for thee. I wanted to grasp the sea, the calm weather, and the music, and give all to thee. Does thou wish that we should live some time on the shores of the sea far from Rome, oh my Augusta? I have an estate in Sicily, whereon there is a forest of almonds, which blossoms rose colored in spring, and is so near to the sea that the ends of its branches almost touch the water. There I will love thee and adore the creed that Paul will teach me, for I know now that it is not opposed to love and happiness. Does thou wish this? But before I hear the answer from thy beloved lips, I will write thee further what happened in the boat. Soon the shore was left far behind us. A sail arose in the distance. A discussion arose as to whether it were a mere fisherman's boat or the great vessel from Ostia. I recognized it first. The Augusta said that it was evident nothing could be hidden from my eyes. Covering her face with a veil, she asked me whether I could recognize her even so. Petronius answered at once that even the sun cannot be recognized behind a cloud. She laughingly retorted that so keen a glance as mine could be blinded by love alone. Naming different ladies of the court, she asked me which I loved. I answered calmly enough until she mentioned thy name. Speaking of thee, she uncovered her face and cast upon me a look with evil and inquiring eyes. I feel true gratitude to Petronius, who inclined the boat at that moment, and so drew general attention from me. I swear that if I had heard thy name mentioned in a slighting tone, I should not have been able to hide my wrath, but should have had to struggle with the impulse to break the head of this bad and treacherous woman with my oar. Does thou remember the occurrence on the pond of Agrippa when we were at Linus's house on the eve of my departure? Petronius is alarmed for my fate, and even today he implored me not to hurt the vanity of the Augusta. But Petronius does not understand me fully, and knows not that beyond thee there is no delight nor beauty nor love, and that for Papia I have only aversion and scorn. Thou hast greatly changed my soul, so greatly that I could not even entertain the idea of going back to my former life. But be not afraid that harm may reach me here. Papia does not love me, for she is incapable of love. Her caprices arise only from her anger against Caesar, who is still under her influence, and who may even still love her. Yet he, on his part, does not spare her nor hide from her his shamelessness and his crimes. I will tell thee besides something which should reassure thee. Peter, when I parted from him, told me not to fear Caesar, as not a hair of my head would be injured. I believe him. Some voice in my soul tells me that every word of his must be fulfilled. Since he blessed our love, neither Caesar nor all the powers of Hades, nor fate itself, can take thee away from me. Oh Lygia, when I think thus I am as happy as though I were in heaven, which alone is peaceful and happy. But thou, as a Christian, mayest be hurt by what I say of heaven and fate, if so, forgive me. I sin against my will. Baptism has not yet washed me, but my heart is as an empty cup which Paul of Tarsus will fill with thy sweet creed, so much sweeter to me because it is thine. Thou, oh my divinity, count it as a merit to me that from this cup I have emptied the liquid which formerly filled it, and that I do not keep it back, but stretch it forward as a thirsty man standing by a pure spring. Let me find favor in thy eyes. In Antium my days and nights will pass in hearing Paul, who already on the first day of the journey acquired such influence over my people that they surround him continuously, seeing in him not merely a wonder worker, but an almost supernatural being. Yesterday I saw joy on his face, and when I asked him what he was doing he answered, I am sowing. Petronius knows that he is among my people and wishes to see him, so does Seneca, who heard of him from Gallo. But the stars are now paling, oh Ligia, while the morning star glows still brighter. Soon the dawn will make a rose of the sea. The whole world is asleep, but I am thinking of thee and loving thee. Let me salute thee as well as the morning dawn, oh my betrothed. VENUSIUS TO LIGIA Dearest hast thou ever accompanied the Owly to Antium, if not it will give me happiness some time to show it to thee. All along the seashore from Lorientum stand a row of villas. Antium is itself a succession of palaces and porticoes, whose columns are reflected in the water in bright weather. I too have a villa right by the water with an olive grove and a forest of cypresses behind the villa. When I remember that this villa will some time be thine, its marbles seem to me even whiter, its gardens more shady, and the sea more deeply azure. Oh Ligia, how good it is to live and love. Old Meneklis, who has charge of the villa, has planted great bunches of irises under the myrtles on the lawns. At sight of them the home of the Owly and the fountain and the garden in which I used to seat myself beside them came back to mind, and to thee also these irises will recall thy own home, so I am sure thou wilt love Antium and this villa. After our arrival we had long talks with Paul at the noonday meal. We spoke of thee. In due time he began to teach. I listened, and I will say to thee that even had I the pen of a Petronius I could not explain to thee all that passed through my mind and soul. I had not conceived the possibility of such happiness, such peace, such infinite calm, but all these things I keep for my converse with thee at the first free moment I shall be in Rome. Tell me, how can the world find room at once for such men as the apostles Peter and Paul, and such a man as Caesar? I ask this because the evening of that same day I passed at Nero's palace. I will tell thee what occurred there. First Caesar read his poem on the destruction of Troy and complained that he had never seen a burning city. He envied Priam. He called him happy for that he had witnessed the burning and destruction of his native city. Whereupon, to Jolinas replied, Say but a word, O divine one, and ere night passes thou wilt see Antium in flames. Caesar in return called him a fool. Where, he asked, should I come to breathe the air of the sea, and preserve this voice with which the gods have gifted me, and which men tell me I should carefully preserve for the benefit of humanity? Is it not Rome that harms me? Are not the stenches of the subura and the asqueline responsible for the hoarseness in my throat? Would not burning Rome present a spectacle a hundredfold more splendid and tragic than Antium? Here all broke in with exclamations. What an unspeakable tragedy it would be that the city which had conquered the world should be changed into a heap of gray ashes. Caesar insisted that his poem would in that case surpass the songs of Homer. He explained how he would rebuild the city, and how future generations would admire the work which should throw all other human achievements into the shade. The drunken feasters joined in with shouts of, do it! Nay, he replied, I should have friends truer and more attached to me. On hearing this I confess it, I grew uneasy. For thou, O beloved art in Rome, now I laugh at those fears. No matter how mad they may be, Caesar and his courtiers would not dare to reach that pitch of madness. But see how love unnerves a man. I should prefer it if the house of Linus did not stand in a narrow alley of the trans-Tiber, nor in a quarter inhabited by aliens who would receive the least consideration of all in case of any disaster. In my eyes the palaces on the Palatine themselves are not worthy of thee. It would please me also to know that thou lackest none of those comforts and luxuries to which thou hast been accustomed from childhood. Go to the house of Aula, so Ligia, I have given much thought to this matter, where Caesar in Rome, news of thy return might readily reach the Palatine through the slaves. This might turn attention to thee and renew thy persecution for that thou hadst dared to combat the will of Caesar. But his stay in Antium will be a long one. Before his return the gossip of the slaves will have ceased. Linus and Ursus might dwell with thee. I live in the hope that ere the Palatine again beholds, Caesar, thou, my divinity, wilt be dwelling with me in thine own house on the Carini. Blessed be the day and the hour and the minute when thou passest my threshold. If Christ, whom I am learning to accept, will accomplish this, blessed also be his name. I will serve him and give my life and my blood for him. But I speak not all right. We will both serve him as long as the thread of our lives endures. Love and greetings to thee from my inmost soul. END OF PART 2 CHAPTER XVI Ursus was drawing up a double vessel of water from the well, singing the while in an undertone a wondrous Lydian song, and casting glad looks at Lydia and Vinicius, who, white as two statues, stood among the cypresses in Linus's garden. Not a breeze stirred their garments. Twilight, lilac, and golden was falling upon the world, as with clasped hands they conversed in the evening calm. May not some harm befall thee, asked Lydia, for that thou didst leave Antium without Caesar's knowledge. No, my beloved, Caesar gave out that he would lock himself up for two days with Turknos to compose new songs. He often does this, and then knows not nor remembers ought else. Besides, what should I care for Caesar, while I am beside thee, while I gaze upon thee? My longings grew greater than I could bear, for night's sleep has fled from me. More than once, when weariness overcame me, I was awakened by a sudden feeling that danger was hanging over thee. At times I dreamed that my relays of horses had been stolen, those horses which were to bear me from Antium to Rome, and which had already borne me from Rome to Antium with greater speed than any of Caesar's couriers. I could bear it no longer without thee. O beloved, I love thee too much for that. I knew that thou wouldst come. Twice at my asking did Ursus run to the Carini to inquire for thee at thy house. Linus laughed at me, and so did Ursus. It was evident enough that she had expected him. In lieu of her usual dark robe, she wore a soft white gown, from whose graceful folds her head and shoulders blossomed out like prim roses in spring. A few rose-colored anemones adorned her hair. Vinicius pressed his lips to her hand. Then they took their seats on a stone bench among the wild vines, and leaning shoulder to shoulder, gazed silently at the setting sun, whose last beams were reflected in their eyes. The charm of peace of the evening stole softly over them. How calm it is here, exclaimed Vinicius in a low tone. How beautiful the world is! The night is cloudless. I have never felt happier in my life. Tell me, Ligia, the reason of this. Never did I conceive that love could be such as this. I deemed it a mere fire in the blood, a passion. I now see that we can love with every drop of blood and every breath, yet feel a sweet and boundless calm, as though sleep and death had put the soul to rest. Tis a new experience for me. I gaze upon the outer calm of the trees, and it seems to be within me. Now for the first time I understand there may be a happiness of which men hither too have not conceived. Now for the first time I understand why thou and Pomponia Grisina enjoy such peace. Yay, Christ giveth that peace. Ligia, leaning her beautiful head on his arm, replied, My dear Marcus, she could not continue. Joy, gratitude, and the feeling that love was now lawful to her, took away her voice and filled her eyes with tears. Vinicius, slipping his arm around her slender form, drew her towards him. Blessed be the moment, he cried, when I first heard his name. I love thee, Marcus, was her low-voiced reply. Both were silent now. Their overcharged breasts forbade further utterance. The last lilac reflection had faded away from the cypresses. The crescent moon was now silvering the garden. Vinicius was the first to speak. I know. Scarce had I entered here. Scarce had I kissed thy beloved hands. ere I read in thine eyes the questions. Had I arrived at a full understanding of that divine creed which thou professest? Am I baptized? No, not yet am I baptized. Know thou why, my flower? Paul said to me, I have convinced thee that God hath come into the world and given himself to be crucified for the salvation of the world. But let Peter cleanse thee in the stream of grace. Peter, who first stretched his hands over thee and blessed thee. I wish thee, my beloved, to be present at my baptism, and that Pomponius stand as my sponsor. That is why I have not yet been baptized, though I believe in the Saviour and his sweet teaching. Paul has convinced and converted me. How could it be otherwise? How could I fail to believe that Christ came into the world when Peter says so, who was his disciple, and Paul to whom he manifested himself? How can I fail to believe him God who rose from the dead? He was seen in the city, on the lake, on the mountain. He was seen by men whose lips knew not how to form a lie. I believed all this from the first time I heard Peter in the Ostronium. Even then I said to myself, I could believe any man on earth to be a liar before this one who says I have seen. But I dreaded your creed. I feared it would separate thee from me. I thought that there was in it neither wisdom nor beauty nor happiness. But today I understand it. What sort of man should I be if I did not desire for the world truth, not lies, love, not hate, good, not evil, loyalty, not disloyalty, charity, not vengeance? What sort of man would he be who would not prefer and wish the same? Thy religion teaches all these things. Other creeds also aim at justice. But thine is the only creed which makes just the heart of man, and, moreover, makes it pure like thine and pomponias, and loyal like thine and pomponias. Blind should I be if I could not see this. And if, in addition, Christ God hath promised eternal life and happiness so boundless as only the almightiness of God could bestow, what more could man wish? Were I to ask Seneca, wherefore should he recommend virtue if wickedness brought me more happiness? He could return no logical answer. But now I see that I should be virtuous, because virtue and love flow from Christ, and because when death closes my eyes I shall find new life and new happiness, find myself and thee, O my beloved. Why not accept a creed which teaches truth and annihilates death, who would not prefer good to evil? I had thought this creed opposed to happiness, but Paul hath convinced me that it takes away nothing and adds all. Hardly yet does all this find room in my brain, but I know it to be true, for I should never have been thus happy had I taken thee by force and possessed thee in my home. Low but a moment since now did say I love thee, and I could not have extorted these words from thee with all the powers of Rome. O Lygia, reason declares this creed to be divine, to be the best, the heart fuels it, who can withstand two such forces. Lygia listened. Her blue eyes fixed on his face seemed mystic flowers in the moonlight and bedued like flowers. True Marcus, she said, nestling her head closer to his arm, both felt supremely happy. They understood that not only love but another power united them, sweet at once and irresistible, through which love itself became unassailable by change, deceit, treason, or death itself. Their hearts overflowed with the certainty that come what might, they would not cease to love and to belong to each other. Hence an unspeakable calm possessed them. Vinicius felt that not only was their love pure and deep, but of a sort that the world did not yet know and could not give. This love gathered all things into his heart. Lygia, Christ's teachings, the moonlight softly sleeping on the cypresses and the calm of the night, so that all space seemed to be filled with it alone. Then in a low and trembling voice he began, thou wilt be the soul of my soul, the dearest for me in all the world. Our hearts will throb together, one in prayer and one in gratitude to Christ. O my beloved, together to live, together to honor God, to know that when death comes, our eyes will again open, as after refreshing sleep to a new light, what greater happiness could be conceived. My soul marvel is that I had not comprehended this sooner. Knowest thou what I now think, that nothing can resist this creed? In two or three hundred years the whole world will accept it. Men will forget Jupiter. There will be no God save Christ, no temples save the Christian. Who would not desire his own happiness? Ah, I have heard Paul's conversation with Petronius. Knowest thou what Petronius said at the close? Tis not for me. That was all he could say. Repeat the words of Paul, said Lygia. Twas at my house. Petronius one evening had been speaking lightly and jestingly, as is his want. Paul said to him, How can't thou, O wise Petronius, deny that Christ existed and that he rose from the dead when thou art not then in the world? But Peter and John saw him. I myself saw him on the road to Damascus. If thy wisdom could show that we are liars, then thou mightest well deny our testimony. Petronius replied that he had no intention of denying, for he well knew that many incredible things had happened and were confirmed by unimpeachable witnesses. But, said he, Tis one thing to discover a new foreign God, and another to accept his creed. I wish for nothing that may spoil my life and destroy its beauty. Be our gods true or false. They are beautiful. We rejoice in them and can live without care. Paul's reply was, Thou wouldst reject the teaching of love, justice and mercy for fear of the cares of life. But rethink thee, Petronius. Is thy life truly free from cares? Behold, neither thou, nor any amongst the mightiest knows when he falls asleep at night, whether he may not be awakened by a death sentence. Now, if Caesar professed this creed of charity and justice, would not thy happiness be more secure? Thou fearest lest by pleasure be lost to thee, but would not life itself be pleasanter in such case? As to the beauty and the adornment of life, if we have raised temples and statues of such surpassing loveliness to evil, vengeful, adulterous, and false divinities, what might ye not do in honor of one God of love and truth? Thou flatterest thyself that thy lot is a happy one, because thou art mighty and livest in luxury, but thou might easily have been poor and destitute, however high-born, and then indeed it would be better for thee in this world if men professed Christ. In your city even parents of high station, unwilling to assume the care of raising children, cast them out into the streets. These children are called alumni. Thou, master, might have been such an alumnus. But if thy parents lived in conformity with our creed, that could not happen. If after reaching man's estate thou hadst married a woman whom thou lovest, thou wouldst prefer that she should remain faithful to thee unto death. And now behold what is going on among you. Behold what debasement, what shamelessness, what abuse of marital faith. Nay, you marvel among yourselves when you hear of a woman whom you call a univera or a woman of a single husband. But I say unto thee that wives who carry Christ in their hearts will not break faith with their husbands, and that Christian husbands will keep faith with their wives. But ye are not sure of your rulers, your fathers, your wives, your children, your servants. The whole world trembles before ye, and ye tremble before your own slaves, for ye know that any hour may call forth a terrible war against your oppression, such a war as has already arisen more than once. Thou art rich, but thou knowest not that tomorrow thou mayest not be ordered to surrender thy riches. Thou art young, but thou knowest not whether tomorrow will not be thy death-day. Thou lovest, but treason lies in wait for thee. Thou art fond of villas and statues, but tomorrow thou mayest be banished to the desert places of the Panditaria. Thou hast thousands of servants, but tomorrow thy servants may spill thy blood. If all this be true, how canst thou be calm and happy? How canst thou find pleasure in life? But I proclaim love. I proclaim a creed which commands rulers to love their subjects, and masters their slaves, commands slaves to serve from love, proclaims justice and charity, and promises at the end unlimited and eternal happiness. Therefore, O Petronius, how canst thou say that this creed ruins life, since it supplies its shortcomings, and since thou thyself wouldst be a hundredfold happier and safer if it were to win the world as your Roman rule has won it? Such were Paul's words. Then it was Petronius said, Tis not for me. Feigning weariness he rose to go, and as he did so he continued, I prefer my unice to all thy creed, O Judean, but I would not care to be matched against thee on the platform. As for me, I had listened with all my soul, and when Paul spoke of our women I honored with all my heart that creed whence thou didst spring as lilies sprung from a rich soil in April, and I thought to myself, Lo, there is Papia who left two husbands for Nero, there are Calvia, Crispinilla, and Nigeria, and almost all the women I know save only Pomponia, all have made traffic at their faith and their vows, but she whom I love, she will not desert me nor deceive me, nor quench the fire at my hearthstone, though all others in whom I placed my trust might desert and deceive me. Hence I spoke to thee in my soul. How can I recompense thee save by love and honor? Didst thou feel that at Antium I talked incessantly to thee as if thou wert by my side? A hundredfold have I loved thee for that thou didst flee from me in Caesar's palace, and I no longer desire Caesar's palace nor its luxury, nor its music, but thee only. Speak but the word, and we will leave Rome to take up our residence afar off. Without moving her head, Ligia thoughtfully raised her eyes to the silvered tops of the cypresses, and answered, Tis well, Marcus, thou hast written to me of Sicily, the hourly wish to settle there for their old age. Vinicius joyfully interrupted her. True, my beloved, our lands adjoin, Tis a marvellous coast, the climate is delightful, and the nights are still brighter than in Rome, fragrant and clear, their life and happiness are synonyms. He paused to dream of the future. There we may forget all our troubles in the groves among the olive orchards. We will walk and rest in the shade. Oh, Ligia, what a life that will be, loving each other, gazing together upon the sea and the sky, honoring together a god of love, doing peacefully what is just and right. Both paused, their thoughts intent upon the future. He drew her closer to him, the nightly ring on his finger sparkling in the moonlight. In the quarter inhabited by the laboring classes everyone was asleep, not a sound disturbed the silence. Will thou allow me to see Pomponia? asked Ligia. Yes, my beloved, we will invite them to our home or visit them ourselves, and if thou wilt we can take in the Apostle Peter. He is bowed down by age and work. Paul also will visit us. He will convert Aulus Plotius, and just as soldiers found colonies in far off countries, so we will found a settlement of Christians. Ligia took his hand in hers, and would have raised it to her lips. But he whispered as though fearful that too loud a tone might frighten happiness away. No, Ligia, no! It is I who honor and adore thee. Give me thy hands. I love thee. He pressed his lips to her hands, white as jasmine. For a moment the beating of their own hearts was the only sound they heard. There was not the least stir in the air. The cypresses were immovable as if they, too, held their breath in suspense. An unexpected sound as of thunder, coming apparently from the ground, broke in upon the silence. A shiver ran through the girl's body. Vinicius rose, saying, It is the roaring of lions in the menagerie. Both listened intently. The first roar was answered by a second, a third, a tenth from all the various quarters of the city. There were often several thousand lions in Rome, quartered in different arenas. Frequently at night time they approached the gratings, and, leaning there on their huge heads, proclaimed their longing for liberty and the desert. So it happened now. One answered the other in the stillness of the night. The whole city was filled with their roaring. So strangely menacing and lugubrious was the sound that Ligia, whose bright and peaceful dreams of the future were frightened away, listened with a heart compressed by some strange fear and melancholy. Vinicius slipped his arm around her. Fear not, beloved, he said. The games are at hand. Hence all the menageries are filled. They both entered the house of Linus, accompanied by the roars of the lions, growing more and more thunderous. End of Part II, Chapter 17 Part II, Chapter 18 of Quo Vadis, a tale of the time of Nero, this Librivox recording is in the public domain. Quo Vadis, by Henriksin Kevich, translated by Benion and Milevsky. Part II, Chapter 18 Meanwhile in Antium, Petronius gained almost daily victories over the courtiers vying with him for Caesar's favor. The influence of Tijellinus had utterly declined. In Rome, when it seemed desirable to put out of the way such men as seemed dangerous, to confiscate their estates, to settle public affairs, to prepare spectacles that astonished alike by their splendor and their barbaric taste, or generally to satisfy the monstrous caprices of Caesar, Tijellinus, crafty and resourceful, seemed absolutely indispensable. In Antium, however, among the palaces overlooking the Azure Sea, Caesar led a Hellenic life. From morn until night poems were read, their metrical structure was discussed, their subtlest graces dilated upon. Music and the theater, in short all which Grecian genius had invented for the adornment of life, found ready appreciation. Petronius, more cultured than Tijellinus or the other courtiers, witty, eloquent, full of the most delicate tastes and feelings, could not help attaining preeminence. Caesar sought his society, consulted him in all things, and accepted his advice when he was composing. His friendship was greater than it had ever been. To the courtiers it appeared that the triumph of Petronius was permanently assured. Even those who had hitherto looked ascance at the exquisite Epicurean now surrounded him and sued for his favour. More than one was in his inner soul pleased at the victory of a man who had always had a definite opinion, who accepted with a skeptical smile the flatteries of his wilam enemies, but who, either through indolence or a natural refinement, was not revengeful and did not use his power to the damage of others. There were moments when he might have ruined Tijellinus, he preferred to laugh at him and to expose his lack of education and culture. The Senate in Rome took breath again. For a month and a half no sentence of death had been pronounced. True, both in Rome and in Antium, tales were whispered of the refinement of debauchery to which Caesar and his new favourite had attained. Nevertheless, all preferred to be ruled by a refined Caesar than by one bestialised at the hands of a Tijellinus. Tijellinus himself lost his head. He hesitated whether or not to throw up his hands, for Caesar repeatedly asserted that in all the Roman court there were but two true Hellenes, two souls that understood each other, himself and Petronius. The astonishing adroitness of the latter confirmed everyone in the opinion that his influence would outlast all others. No one could explain how Caesar could live without him, with whom should he speak of poesy, of music, of racing, in whose eyes could he look to find if his own creations were indeed perfect? Petronius, indifferent as ever, seemed to attach no weight to his position. As ever he was deliberate, indolent, witty and sceptical. Often he produced upon others the impression of one who gested at them, at himself, at Caesar, at all the world. At times he even durst criticised Nero to his face, and even when those around him deemed that he had gone too far and was preparing for himself certain destruction, he knew how to turn the criticism so that it resulted in his own gain. People marveled at his cleverness. They began to think that there was no difficulty from which he could not triumphantly extricate himself. A week after Vinicius's return to Rome, Caesar read to a small audience a passage from his Troyad. When he had finished and the cries of admiration had ceased, Petronius, in answer to a glance of Caesar, said, Bad verses fit only to be cast into the flames. The hearts of all present stood still with terror, never since his childhood had Nero heard such a sentence from the lips of any one. The face of Tijellinus alone glowed with delight, but Vinicius grew pale. He feared that Petronius, who had never been overcome with wine, was now at last intoxicated. Nero, in a honeyed voice, tremulous nonetheless with deeply wounded vanity, inquired, What fault did thou find with them? Petronius did not quail. Do not believe them, he cried, pointing to those around him. They know nothing. Thou askest me what fault I find in thy verse. If thou wishest the truth, I will tell thee. They would be good for Virgil, for Ovid, even for Homer, but not for thee. Thou art not free to write such verse. The conflagration thou describeest does not blaze enough. Harken not to the flatterers of Lucan. Had he written the verses, I should own their genius. In thy case it is different. Knowest thou why? Thou art greater than these. From one so richly dowered by the gods much more is demanded. But thou art indolent. Thou preferest rather to sleep after dinner than to sit thyself down to arduous labor. Thou hast it in thee to create a work above all that the world has yet seen. So I tell thee to thy face, write a better poem. He spoke with a lightsome air as of one who mingled banter with chiding. Caesar's eyes clouded over with a mist of delight. The gods gave me a little talent, he said, but they have given me also something still better, a true critic and a true friend, who alone knows how to tell me the truth to my face. He stretched out his fat hand, overgrown with rusty hair, to a gold candlestick plundered from the temple of Delphi as if to burn the verses. Petronius snatched them away from him before the flames had touched the papyrus. Nay, nay, said he, even as they are they belong to humanity. Let me have them. Then allow me to send them to thee in a cylinder of my own invention. answered Nero, embracing Petronius. True, he continued after a moment, thou art right. My conflagration does not burn enough, but I deemed it sufficient if I could merely equal Homer. A certain diffidence and self distrust have always stood in my way. Thou hast opened my eyes. Knowest thou why it is as thou sayest? Winner sculptor determines upon creating the statue of a god he seeks a model, but I had no model. Never have I seen a burning city. Hence my description lacks verity. Then I will tell thee that only a great artist could appreciate the fact. Nero meditated a moment, then he spoke. Answer me, one question, Petronius. Art thou sorry that Troy was burned? Am I sorry? By the lame husband of Venus not in the least. I will tell thee why. Troy would not have been burned if Prometheus had not given fire to man, nor the Greeks made war upon Priam. Had there been no fire, Ascalus would not have written his Prometheus, just as Homer without war would not have written his Iliad. I prefer the existence of Prometheus and the Iliad to the preservation of a small and probably unclean city, in the midst of which some paltry magistrate might now be sitting and annoying thee by his disputes with the local council. That is what we call rational talk, replied Caesar, for poetry and art it is allowable, nay it is necessary to sacrifice everything. Happy the Achaeans who gave us subject to the Iliad, happy Priam who witnessed the destruction of his native city, as to me I have never seen a burning city. A moment of silence followed. Tijellinus was the first to break it. Nay, Caesar, I have spoken, say but the word, and I will burn Antium, or if thou wouldst take compassion on these villas and palaces, I will order the vessels in Ostia to be burned, or will build a wooden city for thee beneath the Albin Hills, into which thou thyself may cast the fire. Is such thy wish? Nero cast upon him a glance of withering contempt. Am I to gaze on burning woodsheds? he asked. Thy reason is failing thee, Tijellinus. Moreover I see that thou setest no great store by my talent, or my triad if thou thinkest any sacrifice were too great for it. Tijellinus drew back a bashed. Nero, as if wishing to change the conversation, added, somehow is at hand how all Rome must smell at present, yet we must return for the summer games. O Caesar, put in Tijellinus, when thou dost dismiss the Augustalis, allow me to remain for a while with thee. An hour later Venicius was on his way home with Petronius from Caesar's villa. I had a moment's fright on thy account, said the younger man. I thought that thou wast drunk and had irretrievably ruined thyself. Remember that thou art playing with death. "'Tis my arena,' said Petronius lightly. I enjoy the feeling that I am the best gladiator there. See what the end was. My influence has only increased the more. He will send me his verses in a cylinder which I wager is as rich in value as it is barbarous in taste. I shall order my doctor to keep laxatives in it. I have a second reason. Tijellinus, witnessing my success, will doubtless attempt to imitate me. I can imagine what will happen when he attempts a jest. It will be as if a Perinian bear were to dance a tightrope. I shall laugh like Democratus. If I willed it, I might easily ruin Tijellinus and succeed him as the Praetorian Prefect. Then Bronzebeard himself would be in my clutches. But I am indolent. I prefer my present life, even with the verses of Caesar.' What a droidness to turn criticism into flattery! But tell me, are those verses so bad? I do not claim to be a judge in such matters. Not worse than many others, Lucan has more talent in his little finger. Yet Bronzebeard is not entirely lacking. He has, first, a great love for poetry and music. Two days from now we shall call upon him to listen to his verses in honor of Aphrodite, which he will finish to-day or to-morrow. There will be only a small audience, myself, thyself, Tullius, Senicio, and young Nerva. As to the verses it is not true, as I once said, that I use them after feasting for the same purpose to which Vitelius devotes flamingo feathers. They are sometimes eloquent. The words of Hecuba are impressive. She complains of the pains of childbirth. Nero found apt enough expressions per chance, because he himself painfully brings forth every verse. Sometimes I pity him. By Pollux, how strange a mixture he is. Caligula was insane, but he was not such a ridiculous creature. Who can foretell whether Bronzebeard's madness will lead? asked Venetius. No living man! Things may happen whose very remembrance may for entire centuries make the hair stand on Min's heads. That is just what interests me. Though I am frequently bored, even as Jupiter Ammon in the desert, yet I believe under any other Caesar I should have been still more bored. Thy Jewish friend is eloquent. I acknowledge that, if his religion triumphs, then our gods must take serious thought lest they be retired on the shelf. Of course, if Caesar were a Christian, we should all feel more secure. But thy prophet of Tarsus, in reasoning with me, failed to understand that in this very insecurity lies for me the charm of life. He who never plays dice will never lose his property. Nevertheless, men play dice. There is in it some strange delight and oblivion. I have known knights and the sons of senators who have been glad to become gladiators. Thou tellest me I play with life, tis true enough. But I do it because it diverts me. Your Christian virtues would bore me as much in a day as the discourses of Seneca. That is why the eloquence of Paul went to waste. He ought to understand that men such as I can never accept his creed. With thee it is different. A man of thy disposition might hate the very name of Christian like the plague, or might become one himself. Yawningly I recognize the truth of their arguments. We do mad things. We are hurrying to the verge of an abyss. An unknown something signals to us from the future. Something is breaking under our feet. Something is dying around us. So be it. But we at least shall be able to die. In the meantime we have no desire to add a burden to life or to experience death before it arrives. Life exists for itself alone, not for death. Nevertheless I pity thee, Patronius. Do not pity me more than I myself pity. Formerly it was thy want to enjoy thyself among us. While campaigning in Armenia thou wert ever longing for Rome. And now also I long for Rome. Ye for thou art in love with a Christian virgin dwelling in the trans-Tiber. I do not marvel at this, nor do I reproach thee. Rather I marvel that in spite of a creed which thou has described as a sea of happiness, and in spite of that love which will soon be crowned, melancholy appears to oppress thee. Pomponia Grisina is always serious, and thou, since thou becameest a Christian, hast ceased to smile. So tell me not that it is a joyous creed. From Rome thou hast returned more despondent than ever. If this be the Christian manner of loving by the yellow curls of Bacchus, I for one will not follow your example. Let me explain, replied Vinicius, I swear to thee not by the curls of Bacchus, but by the soul of my Father, that never in days of yore did I experience even a foretaste of the happiness in which I live at present. Nevertheless I feel an endless longing, and what is even stranger, when I am away from Ligia I have a foreboding that some danger is hanging over her. What it may be, and whence it may come, I know not, but I feel it in advance, just as one feels the coming storm. In two days I shall strive to obtain for thee permission to leave Antium for as long a time as it may please thee. Pompia is a little more tranquil, and so far as I can see no peril threatens either thee or Ligia from that quarter. Yet today she asked me what I had been doing in Rome, yet my absence was a secret. Per chance she gave orders to have thy steps dogged by spies, but even she must reckon with me in future. Paul, resumed Vinicius, has told me that God sometimes sends warnings but forbids the belief in omens, so I struggle against this feeling but cannot entirely master it. I will relieve the burden of my heart by telling thee what happened. Ligia and I sitting side by side on a night as bright as this laid our plans for the future. I cannot tell thee how calm and happy we were. Suddenly the lions began to roar. Tis no uncommon sound in Rome, but since that moment I have had no rest. It seemed to me that there was a menace in it, a presage of misfortune. Thou knowest I do not readily yield to fear, but that sound filled all the night with terror. It came so strangely and unexpectedly that those roars still resound in my ear, and constant uneasiness possesses my heart as though Ligia needed my assistance against something terrible, even against those very lions. I am in torture, therefore obtain permission for me to leave, otherwise I will go without it. I cannot remain here. I repeat it. I cannot. Petronius laughed. Not yet, he said, has it come to the point of throwing men of consular dignity or their wives to the lions in the arenas. Any other death may be in store for thee, but not that. Of course they may not have been lions, for the German bulls roar no more gently. For my part I make a mock of omens and prognostics. Last night was warm, and I saw stars falling like rain. More than one man would have grown uneasy at such a sight, but I thought to myself, if my star be among them, at least I shall not lack company. He stopped short. After a moment's thought he added, Look you, if your Christ rose from the dead, he will be able to protect you both from death. He can indeed, answered Venisius, gazing upward at the star strewn vault of heaven. Quo Vadis by Henrik Sinkiewicz. Translated by Binyon and Miludzki. Part 2 Chapter 19 Nero played and sang a hymn in honour of the Lady of Cyprus. Words and music had been composed by himself. He was in good voice that day. He felt that his music really charmed the hearers. This feeling added power to the sounds he produced. His soul thrilling in unison gave him the appearance of an inspired one. He paled from genuine emotion, for perhaps the first time in his life he turned a deaf ear to the praises of his audience. He sat for a time with his hands leaning on the lyre and his head bowed. Then suddenly arising he said, I am weary, I need fresh air. Tune my lyre in the meanwhile. He wrapped a silk kerchief around his throat, turning to Petronius and Venisius, who were sitting in the corner of the hall. He said, Come ye with me, give me thy hand, Venisius, for I am weary. Petronius and I will converse of music. They went out together on the terrace with its alabaster pavement strewn with crocuses. It is easier to breathe here, said Nero. My soul is filled with emotion and melancholy, although I see that with the song which I have just sung to you as a test, I can make my appearance before the public and gain a triumph, such as has not fallen to the lot of any other Roman. Thou canst appear here in Rome and in Achaea, with all my heart and all my soul. I admire thee, O thou divine one, replied Petronius. I know it. Thou art too indolent to constrain thyself to flattery, and thou art as sincere as Tullius Senizio, but thou hast more comprehension than he. Tell me, what is thy opinion of music? When I listen to a poem, when I gaze upon a chariot driven by thee in the circus, or on a beautiful statue, temple, or picture, I feel that I embrace the whole in my own mind, and that my admiration comprises all that those things can give. But when I listen to music, especially thine, O divine one, newer beauties and newer delights open up before me. I run after them and grasp them, but ere I can absorb them, still newer delights flow in upon me like waves of the sea, rolling on from infinity. So I say to thee, that music is like the sea. We stand on one shore, and see boundless space before us, but the other shore is invisible. Ah, what a judge thou art, said Nero. For a while they walked in silence, save for the crocus leaves crunched under their feet. Thou hast expressed my thoughts, said Nero at last. I have always said that in all Rome none can understand me save thee alone. I think of music as thou dost. When I play and sing I see things that I knew not existed in my own dominions or in the whole world. Lo, I am Caesar and the world belongs to me. I am omnipotent. But music reveals to me new kingdoms, new mountains, new seas, new delights all here to fore unknown to me. I cannot even name them nor make them intelligible. I only feel them. I feel the presence of the gods. I feel Olympus is here. Some unearthly wind blows upon me. I see as in a mist some infinite splendor, calm and clear as sunrise. The infinite appears to me. I will say to thee, here Nero's voice trembled with genuine emotion, that I, as Caesar and our god, feel myself to be a mere speck of dust. Canst thou believe me? Yay, only a true artist can feel his insignificance in the presence of art. This is a night of sincerity, so I spread out to thee my soul as to a friend. I will speak on. Does thou imagine that I am blind, that I am bereft of reason? Does thou think that I ignore the fact that on the very walls of Rome are written in salts against me, that they call me the murderer of my mother and of my wife, that they look upon me as a ferocious tyrant for that tigelliness gained from me a few sentences of death against my enemies? Yay, my beloved, they hold me to be a tyrant, and I know it. They have imputed to me such hideous cruelty, that sometimes I ask myself whether I am indeed our monster. But these people fail to understand that a man's deeds may be cruel, yet he himself may not be cruel. Ah, no one will believe, even thou, my beloved, mayest not believe that, at times when music laws my soul, I feel myself as innocent as a child in the cradle. By the stars that shine above us, I swear that I am speaking only the truth. Men know not how much of goodness lies in this heart, nor what treasures I can perceive there when music opens the door. Petronius had no doubt that for the moment Nero was speaking sincerely, and that music might lay bare to the light the nobler faculties of his soul hidden under the mountains of egotism, debauchery, and crime. It is necessary, he said, to know thee as intimately as I do. Rome has never been able to appraise thee rightly. Caesar leaned more heavily on the arm of Vinicius as if sinking beneath the burden of injustice. Tigelliness, he said, has told me that in the Senate it is whispered that Diodorus and Turpenos play the lyre better than I do. They would deny me even this. Now tell me the truth, thou who speakest only the truth. Do they play better than I, or only as well? Not in the least. Thy touch is sureer and has greater power. An artist is apparent in thee, in them only skillful artisans. Nay, more. After hearing their music, one better understands what thou art. If that be so, let them live. They will never guess what a service thou hast just rendered them. Of course, if I had sentenced them, I should have found others to take their place. And the people would have said that for the sake of music thou hast destroyed music in the state. Do not kill art for art's saco divine one. How much dost thou differ from Tigelliness? replied Nero. But see, I am an artist before everything, so long as music opens out to me new spaces which I have not yet divine, regions which are not under my rule, joys and delights which I had not known, I cannot live an ordinary life. Music reveals to me the extraordinary, and I seek it with all the powers with which the gods have dowered me. At times it appears to me that to reach those Olympian heights I must accomplish something that no man has yet accomplished. In good and in evil I must excel all humanity. I know too that the people suspect me of insanity, but I am not insane, I am only seeking. If I commit folly, it is from weariness and impatience at my own failure. I am seeking. Does thou understand me? I wish to be greater than man, for in this way alone can I be greatest as an artist. He lowered his voice so that Venisius should not hear him, and approaching his lips to the ear of Petronius he whispered, Noist thou that it was chiefly for this that I sentenced my mother and my wife to death? At the gates of the unknown world I wish to lay the greatest sacrifice of which man is capable. Then I thought something would happen, something that would open the doors behind which I could perceive the unknown. Let it be something marvellous or terrible beyond human conception, be it only great and uncommon. But the sacrifice was insufficient to open the door of the Imperian. Something still greater is necessary. Let it be as the fates will. What is thy intention? Thou wilt see, and sooner than thou dost imagine. Meantime know thou this. There are two Nero's, one the Nero known to the world, the other an artist known only to thee, who, if he is as pitiless as death or as full of folly as Bacchus, is so only because he is stifled by the shallowness and the commonplace of life. Fane would I extirpate them, even with fire or iron. O how base this world will be when I cease to exist! No man, not even thou my beloved, has yet divined what an artist I am. But that is the very source of all my sufferings, and I say to thee in all truth that my soul sometimes grows as melancholy as those cypresses that loom up darkly before us. It is hard for a man to bear simultaneously the burden of the highest authority and of the highest talent. I sympathise with thee, O Caesar, with all my heart, and with me are the earth and the sea, not to mention Vinicius, who deifies thee in his soul. I have always loved him, said Nero, though he serves Mars and not the Muses. He serves Venus before all, replied Petronius. Then the resolve came upon him to straighten out at one blow the affair of his sister's son, and to annihilate all the dangers that threatened him. He is enamoured as Troilus was with Cressida. Grant, O Lord, that he return to Rome, for here he will wither. Knowest thou that the Lydian hostage whom thou didst give him is found again? Vinicius, in setting out for Antium, consigned her to the care of one Linus. I did not mention this to thee, for thou wert composing thy hymn, and that is the all important thing. Vinicius would have made her his mistress, but when he found her to be as virtuous as Lucretia, he fell in love with her very virtue, and now wishes to marry her. She is the daughter of a king, and will bring no dishonour upon him, but he, like a true soldier, sighs and languishes, awaiting the permission of his emperor. An emperor does not select wives for his soldiers, why therefore does he await my permission? Lord, I have told thee that he adores thee. Then the more certain may he be of my permission. It is a beautiful maiden, but too narrow in the hips. Augusta Popea made complaint of her before me that she had cast an evil eye on our child in the gardens of the Palatine, but I said to Tijellinus that deities do not succumb to the evil eye. Remember, O divine one, how Vinicius grew confused before thee, and how thou thyself did exclaim I have him. I remember, he turned to Vinicius. Thus thou love her, as Patronius says, Lord, I love her, replied Vinicius. Then I command thee to go straight to Rome tomorrow to marry her. Appear not before me without the wedding-ring. From my heart and my soul I thank thee, O Lord. O how good it is, cried Caesar, to make men happy. I would do nothing else all the rest of my life. Grant one favor more, O divinity, said Patronius. Announce thy will in the presence of the Augusta. Vinicius would not dare to wed a woman whom the Augusta did not favor, but thou, O Lord, wilt with one word dispel her prejudices, if thou declare that thou hast commanded this. Good! said Caesar, I can deny nothing to thee and to Vinicius. He turned towards the villa. They followed him, their hearts beating with triumphant joy. Vinicius could hardly constrain himself from embracing Patronius at the thought that now all obstacles had been overcome. In the great hall of the villa young Nerva and Tullius Sinicio conversed with the Augusta. Terpnos and Diodorus tuned their liars. Nero, entering, took his seat in a chair inlaid with tortoise shell. He whispered something in the ear of a Grecian lad standing beside him. The lad disappeared and soon returned with a golden casket. Nero opened it and, taking out a necklace of large opals, exclaimed, Here are Jim's worthy of the evening! The dawn glitters in them, said Popia, deeming that the necklace was intended for her. Caesar dangled the necklace in the air. At last he said, Vinicius, thou wilt present this necklace from me to the young Lydian maiden whom I command thee to marry. Popia's eyes, glittering with wrath and amazement, passed from Caesar to Vinicius and finally rested on Patronius. But the latter, leaning carelessly on the arm of a chair, passed his hand up and down the fingerboard of the harp as though wishing to familiarize himself with its shape. Vinicius, after thanking Caesar, approached Patronius and said, How can I ever repay thee for what thou hast done today? Sacrifice a pair of swans to Utterpe, said Patronius, praise Caesar's songs and make a mock of omens. I hope that the roaring of lions will not further disturb thy sleep nor that of thy lily. No, was Vinicius's answer, now I am entirely at ease. May fortune favor you, but now pay attention. Caesar is again taking up the lyre. Hold thy breath, listen, shed tears. And in fact at that moment Caesar grasped the lyre and lifted up his eyes. All conversations ceased. Men stood as if petrified. Terpnos and Diodorus, who were to accompany Caesar, looked on, gazing now at each other, now at Caesar's lips, waiting for the first notes. Suddenly in the vestibule arose a tumult and alarm. From behind the curtain, Tecon, Caesar's freedman, and the consul Lacanius, burst upon the scene. Caesar knitted his brows angrily. Forgive me, O divine emperor! said the panting Tecon. Rome is on fire! The greater part of the city is in flames! At this news all leaped to their feet. Nero laid down the lyre and cried, O gods, I shall see a burning city, and shall finish my Troyad! He turned to the consul. If I sit out at once, he asked, shall I be in time to see the conflagration? Lord! replied the pallid-faced consul, a sea of fire floats over the city. Smoke suffocates the citizens. The people faint or throw themselves madly into the fire. Rome is perishing, O Lord! There was a moment of silence broken by a cry from Vinicius. Woe is me! O unhappy one! And the young man, casting aside his toga, clad only in a single tunic, rushed out of the palace. Nero lifted his hands towards heaven and cried, Woe to thee, holy city of Priam! End of Part 2, Chapter 19 Part 2, Chapter 20 of Quo Vadis, a tale of the time of Nero. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Quo Vadis, by Henrik Sinkiewicz, translated by Binyonant Milevsky. Part 2, Chapter 20 Vinicius had just time to bid a few slaves follow him, then he sprang on his horse. He galloped through the deserted streets of Antium in the direction of Laurentum. The awful news had thrown him into a state bordering on insanity. His brain was in a whirl. He felt only that the black specter of misfortune was sitting beside him on his horse, shouting in his ears, Roam his birding! and lashing himself and his horse to the utmost possible speed. With his head bent on the horse's neck he rode blindly on, in his single tunic, taking no note of the obstacles that might stand in his path. It was a calm and starry night. The horse and its rider loomed like phantoms in the moonlight. The Idumean stallion, lowering its ears and stretching out its neck, flew like an arrow past the motionless cypresses and the white villas hidden amongst them. The trampling of hoofs on the flagstones roused the dogs here and there. Some chased barking after the apparition. Others, startled by its suddenness, bade their dismay to the moon. The slaves, following behind Vinicius on slower horses, soon fell far in the rear. When he had whirled like a tempest through sleeping Laurentum, he turned towards Ardia, in which as in Arisium, Povila, and Ustranum, he had kept relays of horses from the time of his arrival at Antium, so as to cover the distance between that city and Roam in the shortest possible time. Remembering these relays he did not hesitate to tax his horse's strength to the utmost. Beyond Ardia to the northeast it seemed to him that a rosy reflection was mounting in the sky. It might be the dawn, for the hour was late, and in July day broke early, but a cry of fury and despair broke from him as he recognized that it might be the glare of the conflagration. The words of Lacanius rang in his ears, the city is a sea of flames, and for a time he felt the menace of madness in his brain, for he had lost all hope of saving Ligia, or even of reaching the city before it became a heap of ashes. His thoughts outspeeded the onrush of his horse, and flew before him like a flock of dark birds, monstrous and despairing. He knew not indeed in which quarter of the city the flames had started, but he took it for granted that the trans-tiber, with its store of houses, lumber yards, and wooden sheds, would become the first victim to the flames. Fires were not infrequent in Roam. Rioting and looting were their usual accompaniments, especially in the quarters inhabited by the poor and the semi-barbarous. What, therefore, might not occur in the trans-tiber, a hotbed for the rabble which flooded into Roam from all sides. The thought of Ursus and of his extraordinary strength flashed into the mind of Vinicius, but what could one man do, even though he were a titan, against the overwhelming force of a fire? The fear of an uprising of the slaves was a specter that had overshadowed Roam for years, from lip to lip had passed the report that hundreds of thousands of these people still cherished the dreams that they had inherited from the time of Spartacus, still waited for the first opportune moment to take up arms against their conquerors and against Roam. And now the moment had come, even now battle and slaughter as well as fire might be raging in the city. The Praetorians themselves, at the command of Caesar, might have hurled themselves against it with murderous intent. At that thought the hair rose on his head from fear. He recalled the tales of burning cities so persistently repeated at Caesar's court and Caesar's planks that he was constrained to describe a burning city without ever having seen one, and his contemptuous retort when Tijelenus offered to burn up Antium or an artificial wooden city, and finally his invectives against Roam and against the pestilent alleys of the Sabora. Yes, Caesar had ordered the burning of Roam, he alone could give such an order, as Tijelenus alone could carry it out. And if Roam were burning at Caesar's command, who could say whether the populace would not be put to the sword at his command. The monster was fully capable of such a deed. Conflagration, a revolt of the slaves, a slaughter of the citizens, what a hideous chaos, what an unloosening of popular fury and of the forces of destruction, and Ligia was in the midst of it all. The groans of Venisius mingled with the snorting and wheezing of the horse, which, scaling the hill towards Orisium, was expending its last breath. Who could rescue her from the burning city? Who could save her? Venisius, almost lying upon the horse, thrust his fingers into his hair, ready to bite the horse's neck in his agony. Just then a horseman riding like a hurricane from the opposite direction shouted as he passed, Roam is perishing! The ears of Venisius caught but one more word. Gods! The rest was lost in the clattering of hoofs, but that word sobered him. Gods! He raised his head and stretching out his hands toward the star-strewn heavens. Ejaculated, I call not to ye whose temples are burning, but to thee. Thou hast known suffering, Thou alone art merciful, Thou alone canst understand human suffering, Thou didst come into the world to teach mercy to man. Show mercy now! If thou art such as Peter and Paul describe, rescue my Ligia. Take her in thy hands and carry her out of the flames. Thou canst do it. Restore her to me and I will give thee my blood. If thou wilt not do this for my sake, do it for hers. She believes in thee, she loves thee. Thou promises life and happiness after death, but happiness after death will endure, and not yet is she willing to die. Take her in thy hands and carry her out of Rome. Thou canst do it. Is it possible that thou wilt not? He paused, for he felt that further prayer might change into menace. He was afraid of offending God at the very moment when he most needed his pity and mercy. The very possibility terrified him. To banish all rebellious ideas he once more applied the whip to his horse, all the more eagerly that the white walls of Euryseum, marking one half the journey to Rome, were now shining before him, lit by the rays of the moon. A moment later he had passed in full speed the Temple of Mercury, which stood in the grove before the city. It was evident that news of the disaster had already reached here, for there was strange excitement before the gates. In passing Vinicius noticed throngs of men on the steps and between the columns, bearing torches and imploring the protection of the deity. The road was no longer deserted and free as it had been beyond Ardia. Though the crowds were hastening to the grove through the byways, nonetheless the main road was filled with a multitude who gave way before the hurrying horsemen. Voices were born to him from the city. Vinicius burst through like a hurricane, trampling upon the people who stood in his way. Shouts went up from all sides. Rome is burning! The city is on fire! God save Rome! The horse stumbled and fell, but reigned back by the strong hand of the rider. It sat up on its haunches in front of the tavern where Vinicius had another steed in Relay. Slaves awaited their master's commands before the tavern, and at his bidding hastened to bring on a fresh horse. Vinicius seeing a detachment of ten of the Praetorian cavalry, evidently bearing news from the city to Antium, sprang towards them with eager questioning. What part of the city is on fire? Who art thou? asked the leader. Vinicius, a military tribune, an Augustali, answer me on thy head. Master, the fire broke out by the Circus Maximus, when we were sent out the center of the city was already in flames, and the trans-Tiber, the flames have not yet reached there, but with irresistible force it is attacking the newer quarters. People are perishing from heat and smoke, and no rescue is possible. A fresh horse was now led out. Vinicius jumped upon it and hurried along. He directed his course towards Albanum, leaving Albalonga and her beautiful lake on his right. The road from Orissium now led up the hill, which shut out the horizon from sight, as well as Albanum, situated on the other side. Vinicius was aware that when he reached the summit he would see not only Bovila and Ostronium, where a fresh relay of horses were awaiting him, but Rome itself. For beyond Albanum, on both sides of the Appian Way, extended the low Campania, along which ran only the arcades of the aqueducts, so that the city would no longer be hidden from sight. From the summit I shall see the flames, he said to himself. Again he applied the whip. Before he reached the top, however, he felt the wind in his face, and the odor of smoke in his nostrils. Suddenly a golden gleam lit up the hill-top before him. Tis the reflection of the fire, he thought. The night had already paled. The dawn had deepened into daybreak. On all the near mountains shone golden and rosy gleams which might come either from the conflagration or from the rising sun. When at last he reached the summit, a terrible spectacle burst upon his sight. The entire lowland was covered with smoke as if a gigantic cloud overlaid the earth. It engulfed the towns, the aqueducts, the villas, the trees, and beyond this ghastly mass of gray loomed the burning city. The fire did not take on the aspect of a column of fire as it does when a single great building is burning, but rather that of a long belt resembling the dawn. Above that belt rose waveringly a billow of smoke, black in some spots, rosy in others, blood-colored in others, writhing like a snake which first draws back and then shoots upward. The monstrous billow seemed at times to cover even that belt of fire, so that it narrowed itself into a tape line, but at times it lightened it up from beneath, and its lower convolutions changed into waves of flame. Both the belt and the tape line extended from one side of the horizon to the other, shutting it out at times as a belt of forests might shut it out. The Sabine hills were utterly lost to view. Vinicius's first thought was that not only the city but the whole world was on fire, and that no human being could be rescued from this ocean of flame and smoke, the wind now blew still stronger from the fire, spreading the smell of burning matter, and the mist which had begun to envelop even the nearest objects. Daylight had come bright and clear. The sun lit up the crests of the hills around the Albin Lake, but its golden rays shone with a pale and sickly red through the mist. Nearing Albanom, Vinicius rode into smoke-still denser and more impenetrable. The town itself was completely engulfed. The terrified citizens crowded into the streets. It was awesome to think what Rome must be like when in Albanom it was almost impossible to breathe. Fresh despair seized upon Vinicius. Fear raised the hair on his head. He sought to comfort himself as best he could. It is impossible, he thought, that the whole city can be in flames. The wind blowing from the north drives the smoke hitherwards. There is none on the other side. The trans-Tiber divided by the river may be entirely safe. In any case, Ursa's has but to take Ligia through the Geneculum Gate to save both. Equally impossible is it that the whole population should perish, and that the world ruling city should be swept away with all its inhabitants. In cities that have been stormed, when slaughter and fire are doing their worst, some few of the inhabitants always escape. Why then should Ligia perish? May God protect her. He who conquered death himself. Again he began to pray, and, according to the custom in which he had been reared, he made vows to Christ of offerings and sacrifices. When he had passed Albanum, where most of the inhabitants swarmed on roofs and trees for a better view of the conflagration, his unrest in a measure subsided. It flashed across his mind that Ligia was protected not merely by Ursa's and Linus, but by Peter the Apostle. This was an added solace. Peter, to him, was a mysterious and almost supernatural being. From the time that he had first heard him in Ostronium, a strange feeling had possessed him. Of this he had written to Ligia when in Antium. Paul's every word he believed was true and would be proved true. The closer his acquaintance had grown with the Apostle during his sickness, the more this impression had deepened, until at last it had become unshakable faith. So since Peter had blessed his love and promised Ligia to him, Ligia could not perish in the flames. The city might burn, but not a spark would fall upon her garments. Under the spell of sleeplessness, of his mad riding and wild emotions, Vinicius now felt a strange exaltation. Everything seemed possible in this mood. Peter would make the sign of the cross over the flames, would part them with a word, and he and they would pass through unhurt. Moreover the future was known to Peter. Doubtless he had foreseen the calamity, and had warned the Christians and led them forth from the city. Ligia, whom he loved as his own child, could not fail to be among the saved. A firmer hope invaded his heart. Were they fleeing from the city, he might find them in Bovillei or meet them on the way. At any moment the beloved face might emerge from the smoke which was spreading still wider over the whole Campania. This seemed the more probable since now he began to meet still more people who, leaving the city, had sought the Albanian mountains in order to escape from the fire and the smoke. There yet he had reached Ostronium, he was compelled to slacken his pace because of the obstructions in the way. There were pedestrians laden with goods, horses with packs, mules and chariots laden with household effects, and litters in which slaves conveyed the richer citizens. Ostronium was so crowded by the fugitives from Rome that he found it difficult to pass through them. On the forum under the columns of the temple and in the streets were vast swarms. Here and there rose tents wherein whole families had sought shelter. Others camped under the open sky shouting invocations to the gods or cursing fate. In the general panic it was difficult to obtain any information. The men whom Venetius addressed either made no reply or cried out with fright crazed eyes that the city and the world were perishing. Every moment brought fresh crowds of men, women and children from the direction of Rome. These increased the uproar. Some who had lost their dear ones in the crowds were desperately searching for them. Others fought for a camping place. Crowds of savage herdsmen from the Campania rushed onwards to the town, urged by curiosity or the hope of plunder made possible by the confusion. Already had the slaves and gladiators begun to plunder the houses and villas in the town, fighting with the soldiers who had been summoned to the defense of the citizens. From Junius, a senator whom Venetius found at the tavern surrounded by a crowd of Batavian slaves, he obtained the first consecutive story of the conflagration. The fire, it seemed, had begun where the Circus Maximus bordered upon the Palatine and the Selian Hills, but had spread out with overwhelming velocity until it had conquered the entire center of the city. Never since the conquest of Brinnus had such a disaster befallen the city. The entire Circus, said Junius, has gone up in flames together with the adjacent stores and houses. The Aventine and the Selian Hill are on fire. The flames from the Palatine have reached the Carini, and Junius, who possessed a magnificent palace on the Carini, groaned aloud. Venetius shook him by the shoulder. I also have a house on the Carini, he said, but when everything is perishing let that perish too. Then he recalled the advice he had given to Ligia to go to the house of the Owli, and fearing that she might have followed it, he asked. How about the patrician quarter? Tis in flames, replied Junius, and the trans-Tiber? Junius cast on him a look of amazement. Why shouldst thou care for the trans-Tiber? he asked, pressing his aching temples with his hands. The trans-Tiber is more important to me than the whole of Rome, exclaimed Venetius furiously. Thou canst reach it only through the Portu in road, for the heat on the avantine would suffocate thee. The trans-Tiber? I know not. The flames had not yet reached it when I left. Whether they have reached it now, the gods alone can tell. Junius hesitated for a while, then continued in a low voice. I know that thou wilt not betray me, so I will say to thee that this is no common fire. We were not allowed to save the circus. I heard for myself. When the surrounding houses began to burn, thousands of voices shouted, death to the rescuers. Men ran through the city and threw burning torches into the houses. Therefore the people grow unruly and clamor that the city is burning by Caesar's decree. I will say no more. Woe to the city, woe to us all, and woe to me. What is happening there, no tongue can say. Men are perishing in the flames or slaying one another in the confusion. Tis the end of Rome. And again he fell to wailing, woe to the city, and woe to all of us. Vinicius leaped on his horse and hastened on by the Appian way. He now found that his difficulty was to force a passage through the torrent of men and vehicles pouring out from the city. That city extended before him as on an outstretched palm enclosed in a monstrous conflagration. From the sea of fire and smoke darted an awful heat. The clamors of human beings could not drown the hissing and the roaring of the flames.