Chapter XLIII

As Vinicius approached the walls, he found it easier to reach Rome than

penetrate to the middle of the city. It was difficult to push along the

Appian Way, because of the throng of people. Houses, fields, cemeteries,

gardens, and temples, lying on both sides of it, were turned into

camping places. In the temple of Mars, which stood near the Porta Appia,

the crowd had thrown down the doors, so as to find a refuge within

during night-hours. In the cemeteries the larger monuments were seized,

and battles fought in defence of them, which were carried to bloodshed.

Ustrinum with its disorder gave barely a slight foretaste of that which

was happening beneath the walls of the capital. All regard for the

dignity of law, for family ties, for difference of position, had ceased.

Gladiators drunk with wine seized in the Emporium gathered in crowds,

ran with wild shouts through the neighboring squares, scattering,

trampling, and robbing the people. A multitude of barbarians, exposed

for sale in the city, escaped from the booths. For them the burning and

ruin of Rome was at once the end of slavery and the hour of revenge; so

that when the permanent inhabitants, who had lost all they owned in the

fire, stretched their hands to the gods in despair, calling for rescue,

these slaves with howls of delight scattered the crowds, dragged

clothing from people’s backs, and bore away the younger women. They

were joined by slaves serving in the city from of old, wretches who had

nothing on their bodies save woollen girdles around their hips, dreadful

figures from the alleys, who were hardly ever seen on the streets in the

daytime, and whose existence in Rome it was difficult to suspect. Men of

this wild and unrestrained crowd, Asiatics, Africans, Greeks, Thracians,

Germans, Britons, howling in every language of the earth, raged,

thinking that the hour had come in which they were free to reward

themselves for years of misery and suffering. In the midst of that

surging throng of humanity, in the glitter of day and of fire, shone

the helmets of pretorians, under whose protection the more peaceable

population had taken refuge, and who in hand-to-hand battle had to meet

the raging multitude in many places. Vinicius had seen captured cities,

but never had his eyes beheld a spectacle in which despair, tears, pain,

groans, wild delight, madness, rage, and license were mingled together

in such immeasurable chaos. Above this heaving, mad human multitude

roared the fire, surging up to the hill-tops of the greatest city on

earth, sending into the whirling throng its fiery breath, and covering

it with smoke, through which it was impossible to see the blue sky. The

young tribune with supreme effort, and exposing his life every moment,

forced his way at last to the Appian Gate; but there he saw that he

could not reach the city through the division of the Porta Capena, not

merely because of the throng, but also because of the terrible heat from

which the whole atmosphere was quivering inside the gate. Besides, the

bridge at the Porta Trigenia, opposite the temple of the Bona Dea, did

not exist yet, hence whoso wished to go beyond the Tiber had to push

through to the Pons Sublicius, that is, to pass around the Aventine

through a part of the city covered now with one sea of flame. That

was an impossibility. Vinicius understood that he must return toward

Ustrinum, turn from the Appian Way, cross the river below the city, and

go to the Via Portuensis, which led straight to the Trans-Tiber. That

was not easy because of the increasing disorder on the Appian Way. He

must open a passage for himself there, even with the sword. Vinicius had

no weapons; he had left Antium just as the news of the fire had reached

him in Cæsar’s villa. At the fountain of Mercury, however, he saw a

centurion who was known to him. This man, at the head of a few tens of

soldiers, was defending the precinct of the temple; he commanded him to

follow. Recognizing a tribune and an Augustian, the centurion did not

dare to disobey the order.

Vinicius took command of the detachment himself, and, forgetting for

that moment the teaching of Paul touching love for one’s neighbor, he

pressed and cut the throng in front with a haste that was fatal to many

who could not push aside in season. He and his men were followed by

curses and a shower of stones; but to these he gave no heed, caring

only to reach freer spaces at the earliest. Still he advanced with the

greatest effort. People who had encamped would not move, and heaped

loud curses on Cæsar and the pretorians. The throng assumed in places a

threatening aspect. Vinicius heard voices accusing Nero of burning

the city. He and Poppæa were threatened with death. Shouts of “Sanio,”

“Histrio” (buffoon, actor), “Matricide!” were heard round about. Some

shouted to drag him to the Tiber; others that Rome had shown patience

enough. It was clear that were a leader found, these threats could be

changed into open rebellion which might break out any moment. Meanwhile

the rage and despair of the crowd turned against the pretorians, who for

another reason could not make their way out of the crowd: the road

was blocked by piles of goods, borne from the fire previously, boxes,

barrels of provisions, furniture the most costly, vessels, infants’

cradles, beds, carts, hand-packs. Here and there they fought hand to

hand; but the pretorians conquered the weaponless multitude easily.

After they had ridden with difficulty across the Viæ Latina, Numitia,

Ardea, Lavinia, and Ostia, and passed around villas, gardens,

cemeteries, and temples, Vinicius reached at last a village called Vicus

Alexandri, beyond which he crossed the Tiber. There was more open space

at this spot, and less smoke. From fugitives, of whom there was no lack

even there, he learned that only certain alleys of the Trans-Tiber

were burning, but that surely nothing could resist the fury of the

conflagration, since people were spreading the fire purposely, and

permitted no one to quench it, declaring that they acted at command. The

young tribune had not the least doubt then that Cæsar had given command

to burn Rome; and the vengeance which people demanded seemed to him just

and proper. What more could Mithridates or any of Rome’s most inveterate

enemies have done? The measure had been exceeded; his madness had grown

to be too enormous, and the existence of people too difficult because

of him. Vinicius believed that Nero’s hour had struck, that those ruins

into which the city was falling should and must overwhelm the monstrous

buffoon together with all those crimes of his. Should a man be found of

courage sufficient to stand at the head of the despairing people, that

might happen in a few hours. Here vengeful and daring thoughts began to

fly through his head. But if he should do that? The house of Vinicius,

which till recent times counted a whole series of consuls, was known

throughout Rome. The crowds needed only a name. Once, when four hundred

slaves of the prefect Pedanius Secundus were sentenced, Rome reached the

verge of rebellion and civil war. What would happen to-day in view of a

dreadful calamity surpassing almost everything which Rome had undergone

in the course of eight centuries? Whoso calls the Quirites to arms,

thought Vinicius, will overthrow Nero undoubtedly, and clothe himself

in purple. And why should he not do this? He was firmer, more active,

younger than other Augustians. True, Nero commanded thirty legions

stationed on the borders of the Empire; but would not those legions and

their leaders rise up at news of the burning of Rome and its temples?

And in that case Vinicius might become Cæsar. It was even whispered

among the Augustians that a soothsayer had predicted the purple to Otho.

In what way was he inferior to Otho? Perhaps Christ Himself would assist

him with His divine power; maybe that inspiration was His? “Oh, would

that it were!” exclaimed Vinicius, in spirit. He would take vengeance on

Nero for the danger of Lygia and his own fear; he would begin the

reign of truth and justice, he would extend Christ’s religion from the

Euphrates to the misty shores of Britain; he would array Lygia in the

purple, and make her mistress of the world.

But these thoughts which had burst forth in his head like a bunch of

sparks from a blazing house, died away like sparks. First of all was the

need to save Lygia. He looked now on the catastrophe from near by; hence

fear seized him again, and before that sea of flame and smoke, before

the touch of dreadful reality, that confidence with which he believed

that Peter would rescue Lygia died in his heart altogether. Despair

seized him a second time when he had come out on the Via Portuensis,

which led directly to the Trans-Tiber. He did not recover till he came

to the gate, where people repeated what fugitives had said before, that

the greater part of that division of the city was not seized by the

flames yet, but that fire had crossed the river in a number of places.

Still the Trans-Tiber was full of smoke, and crowds of fugitives made it

more difficult to reach the interior of the place, since people, having

more time there, had saved greater quantities of goods. The main street

itself was in many parts filled completely, and around the Naumachia

Augusta great heaps were piled up. Narrow alleys, in which smoke had

collected more densely, were simply impassable. The inhabitants were

fleeing in thousands. On the way Vinicius saw wonderful sights. More

than once two rivers of people, flowing in opposite directions, met in a

narrow passage, stopped each other, men fought hand to hand, struck and

trampled one another. Families lost one another in the uproar; mothers

called on their children despairingly. The young tribune’s hair stood

on end at thought of what must happen nearer the fire. Amid shouts and

howls it was difficult to inquire about anything or understand what was

said. At times new columns of smoke from beyond the river rolled toward

them, smoke black and so heavy that it moved near the ground, hiding

houses, people, and every object, just as night does. But the wind

caused by the conflagration blew it away again, and then Vinicius pushed

forward farther toward the alley in which stood the house of Linus. The

fervor of a July day, increased by the heat of the burning parts of the

city, became unendurable. Smoke pained the eyes; breath failed in men’s

breasts. Even the inhabitants who, hoping that the fire would not cross

the river, had remained in their houses so far, began to leave them;

and the throng increased hourly. The pretorians accompanying Vinicius

remained in the rear. In the crush some one wounded his horse with

a hammer; the beast threw up its bloody head, reared, and refused

obedience. The crowd recognized in Vinicius an Augustian by his rich

tunic, and at once cries were raised round about: “Death to Nero and his

incendiaries!” This was a moment of terrible danger; hundreds of hands

were stretched toward Vinicius; but his frightened horse bore him away,

trampling people as he went, and the next moment a new wave of black

smoke rolled in and filled the street with darkness. Vinicius, seeing

that he could not ride past, sprang to the earth and rushed forward

on foot, slipping along walls, and at times waiting till the fleeing

multitude passed him. He said to himself in spirit that these were vain

efforts. Lygia might not be in the city; she might have saved herself

by flight. It was easier to find a pin on the seashore than her in that

crowd and chaos. Still he wished to reach the house of Linus, even

at the cost of his own life. At times he stopped and rubbed his eyes.

Tearing off the edge of his tunic, he covered his nose and mouth with

it and ran on. As he approached the river, the heat increased terribly.

Vinicius, knowing that the fire had begun at the Circus Maximus, thought

at first that that heat came from its cinders and from the Forum Boarium

and the Velabrum, which, situated near by, must be also in flames. But

the heat was growing unendurable. One old man on crutches and fleeing,

the last whom Vinicius noticed, cried: “Go not near the bridge of

Cestius! The whole island is on fire!” It was, indeed, impossible to

be deceived any longer. At the turn toward the Vicus Judæorum, on which

stood the house of Linus, the young tribune saw flames amid clouds of

smoke. Not only the island was burning, but the Trans-Tiber, or at least

the other end of the street on which Lygia dwelt.

Vinicius remembered that the house of Linus was surrounded by a garden;

between the garden and the Tiber was an unoccupied field of no great

size. This thought consoled him. The fire might stop at the vacant

place. In that hope he ran forward, though every breeze brought not only

smoke, but sparks in thousands, which might raise a fire at the other

end of the alley and cut off his return.

At last he saw through the smoky curtain the cypresses in Linus’s

garden.

The houses beyond the unoccupied field were burning already like piles

of fuel, but Linus’s little “insula” stood untouched yet. Vinicius

glanced heavenward with thankfulness, and sprang toward the house though

the very air began to burn him. The door was closed, but he pushed it

open and rushed in.

There was not a living soul in the garden, and the house seemed

quite empty. “Perhaps they have fainted from smoke and heat,” thought

Vinicius. He began to call,--

“Lygia! Lygia!”

Silence answered him. Nothing could be heard in the stillness there save

the roar of the distant fire.

“Lygia!”

Suddenly his ear was struck by that gloomy sound which he had heard

before in that garden. Evidently the vivarium near the temple of

Esculapius, on the neighboring island, had caught fire. In this vivarium

every kind of wild beast, and among others lions, began to roar from

affright. A shiver ran through Vinicius from foot to head. Now, a second

time, at a moment when his whole being was concentrated in Lygia, these

terrible voices answered, as a herald of misfortune, as a marvellous

prophecy of an ominous future.

But this was a brief impression, for the thunder of the flames, more

terrible yet than the roaring of wild beasts, commanded him to think of

something else. Lygia did not answer his calls; but she might be in a

faint or stifled in that threatened building. Vinicius sprang to the

interior. The little atrium was empty, and dark with smoke. Feeling for

the door which led to the sleeping-rooms, he saw the gleaming flame of

a small lamp, and approaching it saw the lararium in which was a cross

instead of lares. Under the cross a taper was burning. Through the head

of the young catechumen, the thought passed with lightning speed that

that cross sent him the taper with which he could find Lygia; hence he

took the taper and searched for the sleeping-rooms. He found one, pushed

aside the curtains, and, holding the taper, looked around.

There was no one there, either. Vinicius was sure that he had found

Lygia’s sleeping-room, for her clothing was on nails in the wall, and

on the bed lay a capitium, or close garment worn by women next the body.

Vinicius seized that, pressed it to his lips, and taking it on his arm

went farther. The house was small, so that he examined every room, and

even the cellar quickly. Nowhere could he find a living soul. It was

evident that Lygia, Linus, and Ursus, with other inhabitants of that

part, must have sought safety in flight.

“I must seek them among the crowd beyond the gates of the city,” thought

Vinicius.

He was not astonished greatly at not meeting them on the Via Portuensis,

for they might have left the Trans-Tiber through the opposite side along

the Vatican Hill. In every case they were safe from fire at least. A

stone fell from his breast. He saw, it is true, the terrible danger with

which the flight was connected, but he was comforted at thought of the

preterhuman strength of Ursus. “I must flee now,” said he, “and reach

the gardens of Agrippina through the gardens of Domitius, where I shall

find them. The smoke is not so terrible there, since the wind blows from

the Sabine Hill.”

The hour had come now in which he must think of his own safety, for the

river of fire was flowing nearer and nearer from the direction of the

island, and rolls of smoke covered the alley almost completely. The

taper, which had lighted him in the house, was quenched from the current

of air. Vinicius rushed to the street, and ran at full speed toward the

Via Portuensis, whence he had come; the fire seemed to pursue him with

burning breath, now surrounding him with fresh clouds of smoke, now

covering him with sparks, which fell on his hair, neck, and clothing.

The tunic began to smoulder on him in places; he cared not, but ran

forward lest he might be stifled from smoke. He had the taste of soot

and burning in his mouth; his throat and lungs were as if on fire. The

blood rushed to his head, and at moments all things, even the smoke

itself, seemed red to him. Then he thought: “This is living fire! Better

cast myself on the ground and perish.” The running tortured him more

and more. His head, neck, and shoulders were streaming with sweat, which

scalded like boiling water. Had it not been for Lygia’s name, repeated

by him in thought, had it not been for her capitium, which he wound

across his mouth, he would have fallen. Some moments later he failed to

recognize the street along which he ran. Consciousness was leaving him

gradually; he remembered only that he must flee, for in the open field

beyond waited Lygia, whom Peter had promised him. And all at once he was

seized by a certain wonderful conviction, half feverish, like a vision

before death, that he must see her, marry her, and then die.

But he ran on as if drunk, staggering from one side of the street to the

other. Meanwhile something changed in that monstrous conflagration

which had embraced the giant city. Everything which till then had only

glimmered, burst forth visibly into one sea of flame; the wind had

ceased to bring smoke. That smoke which had collected in the streets

was borne away by a mad whirl of heated air. That whirl drove with it

millions of sparks, so that Vinicius was running in a fiery cloud as it

were. But he was able to see before him all the better, and in a moment,

almost when he was ready to fall, he saw the end of the street. That

sight gave him fresh strength. Passing the corner, he found himself in a

street which led to the Via Portuensis and the Codetan Field. The sparks

ceased to drive him. He understood that if he could run to the Via

Portuensis he was safe, even were he to faint on it.

At the end of the street he saw again a cloud, as it seemed, which

stopped the exit. “If that is smoke,” thought he, “I cannot pass.” He

ran with the remnant of his strength. On the way he threw off his

tunic, which, on fire from the sparks, was burning him like the shirt

of Nessus, having only Lygia’s capitium around his head and before his

mouth. When he had run farther, he saw that what he had taken for smoke

was dust, from which rose a multitude of cries and voices.

“The rabble are plundering houses,” thought Vinicius. But he ran toward

the voices. In every case people were there; they might assist him. In

this hope he shouted for aid with all his might before he reached them.

But this was his last effort. It grew redder still in his eyes, breath

failed his lungs, strength failed his bones; he fell.

They heard him, however, or rather saw him. Two men ran with gourds

full of water. Vinicius, who had fallen from exhaustion but had not lost

consciousness, seized a gourd with both hands, and emptied one-half of

it.

“Thanks,” said he; “place me on my feet, I can walk on alone.”

The other laborer poured water on his head; the two not only placed

him on his feet, but raised him from the ground, and carried him to the

others, who surrounded him and asked if he had suffered seriously. This

tenderness astonished Vinicius.

“People, who are ye?” asked he.

“We are breaking down houses, so that the fire may not reach the Via

Portuensis,” answered one of the laborers.

“Ye came to my aid when I had fallen. Thanks to you.”

“We are not permitted to refuse aid,” answered a number of voices.

Vinicius, who from early morning had seen brutal crowds, slaying and

robbing, looked with more attention on the faces around him, and said,--

“May Christ reward you.”

“Praise to His name!” exclaimed a whole chorus of voices.

“Linus?” inquired Vinicius.

But he could not finish the question or hear the answer, for he fainted

from emotion and over-exertion. He recovered only in the Codetan Field

in a garden, surrounded by a number of men and women. The first words

which he uttered were,--

“Where is Linus?”

For a while there was no answer; then some voice, known to Vinicius,

said all at once,--

“He went out by the Nomentan Gate to Ostrianum two days ago. Peace be

with thee, O king of Persia!”

Vinicius rose to a sitting posture, and saw Chilo before him.

“Thy house is burned surely, O lord,” said the Greek, “for the Carinæ

is in flames; but thou wilt be always as rich as Midas. Oh, what a

misfortune! The Christians, O son of Serapis, have predicted this long

time that fire would destroy the city. But Linus, with the daughter of

Jove, is in Ostrianum. Oh, what a misfortune for the city!”

Vinicius became weak again.

“Hast thou seen them?” he inquired.

“I saw them, O lord. May Christ and all the gods be thanked that I am

able to pay for thy benefactions with good news. But, O Cyrus, I shall

pay thee still more, I swear by this burning Rome.”

It was evening, but in the garden one could see as in daylight, for the

conflagration had increased. It seemed that not single parts of the city

were burning, but the whole city through the length and the breadth of

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

the world was a red night.