Chapter XLVIII

CAMPS of people were disposed in the lordly gardens of Cæsar, formerly

gardens of Domitius and Agrippina; they were disposed also on the Campus

Martius, in the gardens of Pompey, Sallust, and Mæcenas, in porticos,

tennis-courts, splendid summer-houses, and buildings erected for wild

beasts. Peacocks, flamingoes, swans, ostriches, gazelles, African

antelopes, and deer, which had served as ornaments to those gardens,

went under the knives of the rabble. Provisions began to come in now

from Ostria so abundantly that one might walk, as on a bridge, over

ships, boats, and barges from one bank of the Tiber to the other. Wheat

was sold at the unheard-of low price of three sestertia, and was given

gratis to the indigent. Immense supplies of wine, olives, and chestnuts

were brought to the city; sheep and cattle were driven in every day from

the mountains. Wretches who before the fire had been hiding in alleys of

the Subura, and were perishing of hunger in ordinary times, had a more

pleasant life now. The danger of famine was averted completely, but it

was more difficult to suppress robbery, murder, and abuses. A nomadic

life insured impunity to thieves; the more easily since they proclaimed

themselves admirers of Cæsar, and were unsparing of plaudits wherever

he appeared. Moreover, when, by the pressure of events, the authorities

were in abeyance, and there was a lack of armed force to quell insolence

in a city inhabited by the dregs of contemporary mankind, deeds were

done which passed human imagination. Every night there were battles and

murders; every night boys and women were snatched away. At the Porta

Mugionis, where there was a halting-place for herds driven in from the

Campania, it come to engagements in which people perished by hundreds.

Every morning the banks of the Tiber were covered with drowned bodies,

which no one collected; these decayed quickly because of heat heightened

by fire, and filled the air with foul odors. Sickness broke out on the

camping-grounds, and the more timorous foresaw a great pestilence.

But the city burned on unceasingly. Only on the sixth day, when the

fire reached empty spaces on the Esquiline, where an enormous number of

houses had been demolished purposely, did it weaken. But the piles of

burning cinders gave such strong light yet that people would not believe

that the end of the catastrophe had come. In fact the fire burst forth

with fresh force on the seventh night in the buildings of Tigellinus,

but had short duration for lack of fuel. Burnt houses, however, fell

here and there, and threw up towers of flame and pillars of sparks. But

the glowing ruins began to grow black on the surface. After sunset the

heavens ceased to gleam with bloody light, and only after dark did blue

tongues quiver above the extended black waste, tongues which rose from

piles of cinders.

Of the fourteen divisions of Rome there remained only four, including

the Trans-Tiber. Flames had consumed all the others. When at last

the piles of cinders had been turned into ashes, an immense space was

visible from the Tiber to the Esquiline, gray, gloomy, dead. In this

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

Among these columns gloomy crowds of people moved about in the daytime,

some seeking for precious objects, others for the bones of those dear

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

dwellings.

All the bounty and aid shown by Cæsar to the populace did not restrain

evil speech and indignation. Only the herd of robbers, criminals, and

homeless ruffians, who could eat, drink, and rob enough, were contented.

People who had lost all their property and their nearest relatives were

not won over by the opening of gardens, the distribution of bread, or

the promise of games and gifts. The catastrophe had been too great and

unparalleled. Others, in whom was hidden yet some spark of love for the

city and their birthplace, were brought to despair by news that the old

name “Roma” was to vanish, and that from the ashes of the capital Cæsar

would erect a new city called Neropolis. A flood of hatred rose and

swelled every day, despite the flatteries of the Augustians and the

calumnies of Tigellinus. Nero, more sensitive than any former Cæsar to

the favor of the populace, thought with alarm that in the sullen and

mortal struggle which he was waging with patricians in the Senate, he

might lack support. The Augustians themselves were not less alarmed,

for any morning might bring them destruction. Tigellinus thought of

summoning certain legions from Asia Minor. Vatinius, who laughed even

when slapped on the face, lost his humor; Vitelius lost his appetite.

Others were taking counsel among themselves how to avert the danger, for

it was no secret that were an outburst to carry off Cæsar, not one

of the Augustians would escape, except, perhaps, Petronius. To their

influence were ascribed the madnesses of Nero, to their suggestions all

the crimes which he committed. Hatred for them almost surpassed that

for Nero. Hence some began to make efforts to rid themselves of

responsibility for the burning of the city. But to free themselves they

must clear Cæsar also from suspicion, or no one would believe that they

had not caused the catastrophe. Tigellinus took counsel on this subject

with Domitius Afer, and even with Seneca, though he hated him. Poppæa,

who understood that the ruin of Nero would be her own sentence, took

the opinion of her confidants and of Hebrew priests, for it had been

admitted for years that she held the faith of Jehovah. Nero found his

own methods, which, frequently terrible, were more frequently foolish,

and fell now into terror, now into childish delight, but above all he

complained.

On a time a long and fruitless consultation was held in the house of

Tiberius, which had survived the fire. Petronius thought it best to

leave troubles, go to Greece, thence to Egypt and Asia Minor. The

journey had been planned long before; why defer it, when in Rome were

sadness and danger?

Cæsar accepted the counsel with eagerness; but Seneca when he had

thought awhile, said,--

“It is easy to go, but it would be more difficult to return.”

“By Heracles!” replied Petronius, “we may return at the head of Asiatic

legions.”

“This will I do!” exclaimed Nero.

But Tigellinus opposed. He could discover nothing himself, and if the

arbiter’s idea had come to his own head he would beyond doubt have

declared it the saving one; but with him the question was that Petronius

might not be a second time the only man who in difficult moments could

rescue all and every one.

“Hear me, divinity,” said he, “this advice is destructive! Before

thou art at Ostia a civil war will break out; who knows but one of the

surviving collateral descendants of the divine Augustus will declare

himself Cæsar, and what shall we do if the legions take his side?”

“We shall try,” answered Nero, “that there be no descendants of

Augustus. There are not many now; hence it is easy to rid ourselves of

them.”

“It is possible to do so, but is it a question of them alone? No longer

ago than yesterday my people heard in the crowd that a man like Thrasea

should be Cæsar.”

Nero bit his lips. After a while he raised his eyes and said:

“Insatiable and thankless. They have grain enough, and they have coal on

which to bake cakes; what more do they want?”

“Vengeance!” replied Tigellinus.

Silence followed. Cæsar rose on a sudden, extended his hand, and began

to declaim,--

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

forgetting everything, he said, with radiant face: “Give me the tablet

and stilus to write this line. Never could Lucan have composed the like.

Have ye noticed that I found it in a twinkle?”

“O incomparable!” exclaimed a number of voices. Nero wrote down the

line, and said,--

“Yes, vengeance wants a victim.” Then he cast a glance on those around

him. “But if we spread the report that Vatinius gave command to burn the

city, and devote him to the anger of the people?”

“O divinity! Who am I?” exclaimed Vatmius.

“True! One more important than thou is demanded. Is it Vitelius?”

Vitelius grew pale, but began to laugh.

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

But Nero had something else on his mind; in his soul he was looking for

a victim who might really satisfy the people’s anger, and he found him.

“Tigellinus,” said he after a while, “it was thou who didst burn Rome!”

A shiver ran through those present. They understood that Cæsar had

ceased to jest this time, and that a moment had come which was pregnant

with events.

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

bite.

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

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

followed that the buzzing of flies was heard as they flew through the

atrium.

“Tigellinus,” said Nero, “dost thou love me?”

“Thou knowest, lord.”

“Sacrifice thyself for me.”

“O divine Cæsar,” answered Tigellinus, “why present the sweet cup which

I may not raise to my lips? The people are muttering and rising; dost

thou wish the pretorians also to rise?”

A feeling of terror pressed the hearts of those present. Tigellinus was

pretorian prefect, and his words had the direct meaning of a threat.

Nero himself understood this, and his face became pallid.

At that moment Epaphroditus, Cæsar’s freedman, entered, announcing that

the divine Augusta wished to see Tigellinus, as there were people in her

apartments whom the prefect ought to hear.

Tigellinus bowed to Cæsar, and went out with a face calm and

contemptuous. Now, when they had wished to strike him, he had shown

his teeth; he had made them understand who he was, and, knowing Nero’s

cowardice, he was confident that that ruler of the world would never

dare to raise a hand against him.

Nero sat in silence for a moment; then, seeing that those present

expected some answer, he said,--

“I have reared a serpent in my bosom.”

Petronius shrugged his shoulders, as if to say that it was not difficult

to pluck the head from such a serpent.

“What wilt thou say? Speak, advise!” exclaimed Nero, noticing this

motion. “I trust in thee alone, for thou hast more sense than all of

them, and thou lovest me.”

Petronius had the following on his lips: “Make me pretorian prefect, I

will deliver Tigellinus to the people, and pacify the city in a day.”

But his innate slothfulness prevailed. To be prefect meant to bear on

his shoulder’s Cæsar’s person and also thousands of public affairs. And

why should he perform that labor? Was it not better to read poetry in

his splendid library, look at vases and statues, or hold to his breast

the divine body of Eunice, twining her golden hair through his fingers,

and inclining his lips to her coral mouth? Hence he said,--

“I advise the journey to Achæa.”

“Ah!” answered Nero, “I looked for something more from thee. The Senate

hates me. If I depart, who will guarantee that it will not revolt and

proclaim some one else Cæsar? The people have been faithful to me so

far, but now they will follow the Senate. By Hades! if that Senate and

that people had one head!--”

“Permit me to say, O divinity, that if thou desire to save Rome, there

is need to save even a few Romans,” remarked Petronius, with a smile.

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

in Achæa. Here only treason surrounds me. All desert me, and ye are

making ready for treason. I know it, I know it. Ye do not even imagine

what future ages will say of you if ye desert such an artist as I am.”

Here he tapped his forehead on a sudden, and cried,--

“True! Amid these cares even I forget who I am.”

Then he turned to Petronius with a radiant face.

“Petronius,” said he, “the people murmur; but if I take my lute and go

to the Campus Martius, if I sing that song to them which I sang during

the conflagration, dost thou not think that I will move them, as Orpheus

moved wild beasts?”

To this Tullius Senecio, who was impatient to return to his slave

women brought in from Antium, and who had been impatient a long time,

replied,--

“Beyond doubt, O Cæsar, if they permit thee to begin.”

“Let us go to Hellas!” cried Nero, with disgust.

But at that moment Poppæa appeared, and with her Tigellinis. The eyes

of those present turned to him unconsciously, for never had triumphator

ascended the Capitol with pride such as his when he stood before Cæsar.

He began to speak slowly and with emphasis, in tones through which the

bite of iron, as it were, was heard,--

“Listen. O Cæsar, for I can say: I have found! The people want

vengeance, they want not one victim, but hundreds, thousands. Hast

heard, lord, who Christos was,--he who was crucified by Pontius Pilate?

And knowest thou who the Christians are? Have I not told thee of their

crimes and foul ceremonies, of their predictions that fire would cause

the end of the world? People hate and suspect them. No one has seen them

in a temple at any time, for they consider our gods evil spirits; they

are not in the Stadium, for they despise horse races. Never have the

hands of a Christian done thee honor with plaudits. Never has one of

them recognized thee as god. They are enemies of the human race, of the

city, and of thee. The people murmur against thee; but thou hast given

me no command to burn Rome, and I did not burn it. The people want

vengeance; let them have it. The people want blood and games; let them

have them. The people suspect thee; let their suspicion turn in another

direction.”

Nero listened with amazement at first; but as Tigellinus proceeded, his

actor’s face changed, and assumed in succession expressions of anger,

sorrow, sympathy, indignation. Suddenly he rose, and, casting off the

toga, which dropped at his feet, he raised both hands and stood silent

for a time. At last he said, in the tones of a tragedian,--

“O Zeus, Apollo, Here, Athene, Persephone, and all ye immortals! why did

ye not come to aid us? What has this hapless city done to those cruel

wretches that they burnt it so inhumanly?”

“They are enemies of mankind and of thee,” said Poppæa.

“Do justice!” cried others. “Punish the incendiaries! The gods

themselves call for vengeance!”

Nero sat down, dropped his head to his breast, and was silent a second

time, as if stunned by the wickedness of which he had heard. But after a

while he shook his hands, and said,--

“What punishments, what tortures befit such a crime? But the gods will

inspire me, and, aided by the powers of Tartarus, I will give my

poor people such a spectacle that they will remember me for ages with

gratitude.”

The forehead of Petronius was covered with a sudden cloud. He thought of

the danger hanging over Lygia and over Vinicius, whom he loved, and over

all those people whose religion he rejected, but of whose innocence he

was certain. He thought also that one of those bloody orgies would begin

which his eyes, those of an æsthetic man, could not suffer. But above

all he thought: “I must save Vinicius, who will go mad if that maiden

perishes”; and this consideration outweighed every other, for Petronius

understood well that he was beginning a game far more perilous than any

in his life. He began, however, to speak freely and carelessly, as

his wont was when criticising or ridiculing plans of Cæsar and the

Augustians that were not sufficiently æsthetic,--

“Ye have found victims! That is true. Ye may send them to the arena, or

array them in ‘painful tunics.’ That is true also. But hear me! Ye have

authority, ye have pretorians, ye have power; then be sincere, at

least, when no one is listening! Deceive the people, but deceive not

one another. Give the Christians to the populace, condemn them to any

torture ye like; but have courage to say to yourselves that it was not

they who burnt Rome. Phy! Ye call me ‘arbiter elegantiarum’; hence I

declare to you that I cannot endure wretched comedies! Phy! how all this

reminds me of the theatrical booths near the Porta Asinaria, in which

actors play the parts of gods and kings to amuse the suburban rabble,

and when the play is over wash down onions with sour wine, or get blows

of clubs! Be gods and kings in reality; for I say that ye can permit

yourselves the position! As to thee, O Cæsar, thou hast threatened

us with the sentence of coming ages; but think, those ages will utter

judgment concerning thee also. By the divine Clio! Nero, ruler of the

world, Nero, a god, burnt Rome, because he was as powerful on earth as

Zeus on Olympus,--Nero the poet loved poetry so much that he sacrificed

to it his country! From the beginning of the world no one did the

like, no one ventured on the like. I beseech thee in the name of the

double-crowned Libethrides, renounce not such glory, for songs of thee

will sound to the end of ages! What will Priam be when compared with

thee; what Agamenmon; what Achilles; what the gods themselves? We need

not say that the burning of Rome was good, but it was colossal and

uncommon. I tell thee, besides, that the people will raise no hand

against thee! It is not true that they will. Have courage; guard thyself

against acts unworthy of thee,--for this alone threatens thee, that

future ages may say, ‘Nero burned Rome; but as a timid Cæsar and a timid

poet he denied the great deed out of fear, and cast the blame of it on

the innocent!’”

The arbiter’s words produced the usual deep impression on Nero; but

Petronius was not deceived as to this, that what he had said was a

desperate means which in a fortunate event might save the Christians,

it is true, but might still more easily destroy himself. He had not

hesitated, however, for it was a question at once of Vinicius whom

he loved, and of hazard with which he amused himself. “The dice are

thrown,” said he to himself, “and we shall see how far fear for his own

life outweighs in the monkey his love of glory.”

And in his soul he had no doubt that fear would outweigh.

Meanwhile silence fell after his words. Poppæa and all present were

looking at Nero’s eyes as at a rainbow. He began to raise his lips,

drawing them to his very nostrils, as was his custom when he knew not

what to do; at last disgust and trouble were evident on his features.

“Lord,” cried Tigellinus, on noting this, “permit me to go; for when

people wish to expose thy person to destruction, and call thee, besides,

a cowardly Cæsar, a cowardly poet, an incendiary, and a comedian, my

ears cannot suffer such expressions!”

“I have lost,” thought Petronius. But turning to Tigellinus, he measured

him with a glance in which was that contempt for a ruffian which is felt

by a great lord who is an exquisite.

“Tigellinus,” said he, “it was thou whom I called a comedian; for thou

art one at this very moment.”

“Is it because I will not listen to thy insults?”

“It is because thou art feigning boundless love for Cæsar,--thou who

a short while since wert threatening him with pretorians, which we all

understood as did he!”

Tigellinus, who had not thought Petronius sufficiently daring to throw

dice such as those on the table, turned pale, lost his head, and was

speechless. This was, however, the last victory of the arbiter over his

rival, for that moment Poppæa said,--

“Lord, how permit that such a thought should even pass through the head

of any one, and all the more that any one should venture to express it

aloud in thy presence!”

“Punish the insolent!” exclaimed Vitelius.

Nero raised his lips again to his nostrils, and, turning his

near-sighted, glassy eyes on Petronius, said,--

“Is this the way thou payest me for the friendship which I had for

thee?”

“If I am mistaken, show me my error,” said Petronius; “but know that I

speak that which love for thee dictates.”

“Punish the insolent!” repeated Vitelius.

“Punish!” called a number of voices.

In the atrium there was a murmur and a movement, for people began to

withdraw from Petronius. Even Tullius Senecio, his constant companion at

the court, pushed away, as did young Nerva, who had shown him hitherto

the greatest friendship. After a while Petronius was alone on the left

side of the atrium, with a smile on his lips; and gathering with his

hands the folds of his toga, he waited yet for what Cæsar would say or

do.

“Ye wish me to punish him” said Cæsar; “but he is my friend and comrade.

Though he has wounded my heart, let him know that for friends this heart

has naught but forgiveness.”

“I have lost, and am ruined,” thought Petronius.

Meanwhile Cæsar rose, and the consultation was ended.