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_ The city burned on. The Circus Maximus had fallen in ruins.
Entire streets and alleys in parts which began to burn first were
falling in turn. After every fall pillars of flame rose for a time to
the very sky. The wind had changed, and blew now with mighty
force from the sea, bearing toward the Celian, the Esquiline, and
the Viminal rivers of flame, brands, and cinders. Still the
authorities provided for rescue. At command of Tigellinus, who
had hastened from Antium the third day before, houses on the
Esquiline were torn down so that the fire, reaching empty spaces,
died of itself. That was, however, undertaken solely to save a
remnant of the city; to save that which was burning was not to be
thought of. There was need also to guard against further results of
the ruin. Incalculable wealth had perished in Rome; all the
property of its citizens had vanished; hundreds of thousands of
people were wandering in utter want outside the walls. Hunger had
begun to pinch this throng the second day, for the immense stores
of provisions in the city had burned with it. In the universal
disorder and in the destruction of authority no one had thought of
furnishing new supplies. Only after the arrival of Tigellinus were
proper orders sent to Ostia; but meanwhile the people had grown
more threatening.
The house at Aqua Appia, in which Tigellinus lodged for the
moment, was surrounded by crowds of women, who from morning
till late at night cried, "Bread and a roof!" Vainly did pretorians,
brought from the great camp between the Via Salaria and the
Nomentana, strive to maintain order of some kind. Here and there
they were met by open, armed resistance. In places weaponless
crowds pointed to the burning city, and shouted, "Kill us in view of
that fire!" They abused Caesar, the Augustians, the pretorians;
excitement rose every moment, so that Tigellinus, looking at night
on the thousands of fires around the city, said to himself that those
were fires in hostile camps.
Besides flour, as much baked bread as possible was brought at his
command, not only from Ostia, but from all towns and neighboring
villages. When the first instalment came at night to the Emporium,
the people broke the chief gate toward the Aventine, seized all
supplies in the twinkle of an eye, and caused terrible disturbance.
In the light of the conflagration they fought for loaves, and
trampled many of them into the earth. Flour from torn bags
whitened like snow the whole space from the granary to the arches
of Drusus and Germanicus. The uproar continued till soldiers
seized the building and dispersed the crowd with arrows and
missiles.
Never since the invasion by the Gauls under Brennus had Rome
beheld such disaster. People in despair compared the two
conflagrations. But in the time of Brennus the Capitol remained.
Now the Capitol was encircled by a dreadful wreath of flame. The
marbles, it is true, were not blazing; but at night, when the wind
swept the flames aside for a moment, rows of columns in the lofty
sanctuary of Jove were visible, red as glowing coals. In the days of
Brennus, moreover, Rome had a disciplined integral people,
attached to the city and its altars; but now crowds of a
many-tongued populace roamed nomad-like around the walls of
burning Rome, -- people composed for the greater part of slaves
and freedmen, excited, disorderly, and ready, under the pressure of
want, to turn against authority and the city.
But the very immensity of the fire, which terrified every heart,
disarmed the crowd in a certain measure. After the fire might
come famine and disease; and to complete the misfortune the
terrible heat of July had appeared. It was impossible to breathe air
inflamed both by fire and the sun. Night brought no relief, on the
contrary it presented a hell. During daylight an awful and ominous
spectacle met the eye. In the centre a giant city on heights was
turned into a roaring volcano; round about as far as the Alban Hills
was one boundless camp, formed of sheds, tents, huts, vehicles,
bales, packs, stands, fires, all covered with smoke and dust, lighted
by sunrays reddened by passing through smoke, -- everything filled
with roars, shouts, threats, hatred and terror, a monstrous swarm of
men, women, and children. Mingled with Quiites were Greeks,
shaggy men from the North with blue eyes, Africans, and Asiatics;
among citizens were slaves, freedmen, gladiators, merchants,
mechanics, servants, and soldiers, -- a real sea of people, flowing
around the island of fire.
Various reports moved this sea as wind does a real one. These
reports were favorable and unfavorable. People told of immense
supplies of wheat and clothing to be brought to the Emporium and
distributed gratis. It was said, too, that provinces in Asia and
Africa would be stripped of their wealth at Caesar's command, and
the treasures thus gained be given to the inhabitants of Rome, so
that each man might build his own dwelling. But it was noised
about also that water in the aqueducts had been poisoned; that
Nero intended to annihilate the city, destroy the inhabitants to the
last person, then move to Greece or to Egypt, and rule the world
from a new place. Each report ran with lightning speed, and each
found belief among the rabble, causing outbursts of hope, anger,
terror, or rage. Finally a kind of fever mastered those nomadic
thousands. The belief of Christians that the end of the world by
fire was at hand, spread even among adherents of the gods, and
extended daily. People fell into torpor or madness. In clouds
lighted by the burning, gods were seen gazing down on the ruin;
hands were stretched toward those gods then to implore pity or
send them curses.
Meanwhile soldiers, aided by a certain number of inhabitants,
continued to tear down houses on the Esquiine and the Culian, as
also in the Trans-Tiber; these divisions were saved therefore in
considerable part. But in the city itself were destroyed incalculable
treasures accumulated through centuries of conquest; priceless
works of art, splendid temples, the most precious monuments of
Rome's past, and Rome's glory. They foresaw that of all Rome
there would remain barely a few parts on the edges, and that
hundreds of thousands of people would be without a roof. Some
spread reports that the soldiers were tearing down houses not to
stop the fire, but to prevent any part of the city from being saved.
Tigellinus sent courier after courier to Antium, imploring Caesar
in each letter to come and calm the despairing people with his
presence. But Nero moved only when fire had seized the "domus
transitoria," and he hurried so as not to miss the moment in which
the conflagration should bc at its highest.
Meanwhile fire had reached the Via Nomentana, but turned from it
at once with a change of wind toward the Via Lata and the Tiber. It
surrounded the Capitol, spread along the Forum Boarium,
destroyed everything which it had spared before, and approached
the Palatine a second time.
Tigellinus, assembling all the pretorian forces, despatched courier
after courier to Caesar with an announcement that he would lose
nothing of the grandeur of the spectacle, for the fire had increased.
But Nero, who was on the road, wished to come at night, so as to
sate himself all the better with a view of the perishing capital.
Therefore he halted, in the neighborhood of Aqua Albana, and,
summoning to his tent the tragedian Aliturus, decided with his aid
on posture, look, and expression; learned fitting gestures, disputing
with the actor stubbornly whether at the words "O sacred city,
which seemed more enduring than Ida," he was to raise both
hands, or, holding in one the forminga, drop it by his side and raise
only the other. This question seemed to him then more important
than all others. Starting at last about nightfall, he took counsel of
Petronius also whether to the lines describing the catastrophe he
might add a few magnificent blasphemies against the gods, and
whether, considered from the standpoint of art, they would not
have rushed spontaneously from the mouth of a man in such a
position, a man who was losing his birthplace.
At length he approached the walls about midnight with his
numerous court, composed of whole detachments of nobles,
senators, knights, freedmen, slaves, women, and children. Sixteen
thousand pretorians, arranged in line of battle along the road,
guarded the peace and safety of his entrance, and held the excited
populace at a proper distance. The people cursed, shouted, and
hissed on seeing the retinue, but dared not attack it. In many
places, however, applause was given by the rabble, which, owning
nothing, had lost nothing in the fire, and which hoped for a more
bountiful distribution than usual of wheat, olives, clothing, and
money. Finally, shouts, hissing, and applause were drowned in the
blare of horns and trumpets, which Tigellinus had caused to be
sounded.
Nero, on arriving at the Ostian Gate, halted, and said, "Houseless
ruler of a houseless people, where shall I lay my unfortunate head
for the night?"
After he had passed the Clivus Delphini, he ascended the Appian
aqueduct on steps prepared purposely. After him followed the
Augustians and a choir of singers, bearing citharaee, lutes, and
other musical instruments.
And all held the breath in their breasts, waiting to learn if he
would say some great words, which for their own safety they ought
to remember. But he stood solemn, silent, in a purple mantle, and a
wreath of golden laurels, gazing at the raging might of the flames.
When Terpnos gave him a golden lute, he raised his eyes to the
sky, filled with the conflagration, as if he were waiting for
inspiration.
The people pointed at him from afar as he stood in the bloody
gleam. In the distance fiery serpents were hissing. The ancient and
most sacred edifices were in flames: the temple of Hercules, reared
by Evander, was burning; the temple of Jupiter Stator was burning,
the temple of Luna, built by Servius Tullius, the house of Numa
Pompiius, the sanctuary of Vesta with the penates of the Roman
people; through waving flames the Capitol appeared at intervals;
the past and the spirit of Rome was burning. But he, Caesar, was
there with a lute in his hand and a theatrical expression on his face,
not thinking of his perishing country, but of his posture and the
prophetic words with which he might describe best the greatness
of the catastrophe, rouse most admiration, and receive the warmest
plaudits. He detested that city, he detested its inhabitants, beloved
only his own songs and verses; hence he rejoiced in heart that at
last he saw a tragedy like that which he was writing. The
verse-maker was happy, the declaimer felt inspired, the seeker for
emotions was delighted at the awful sight, and thought with
rapture that even the destruction of Troy was as nothing if
compared with the destruction of that giant city. What more could
he desire? There was world-ruling Rome in flames, and he,
standing on the arches of the aqueduct with a golden lute,
conspicuous, purple, admired, magnificent, poetic. Down below,
somewhere in the darkness, the people are muttering and storming.
But let them mutter! Ages will pass, thousands of years will go by,
but mankind will remember and glorify the poet, who in that night
sang the fall and the burning of Troy. What was Homer compared
with him? What Apollo himself with his hollowed-out lute?
Here he raised his hands and, striking the strings, pronounced the
words of Priam.
"O nest of my fathers, O dear cradle!" His voice in the open air,
with the roar of the conflagration, and the distant murmur of
crowding thousands, seemed marvellously weak, uncertain, and
low, and the sound of the accompaniment like the buzzing of
insects. But senators, dignitaries, and Augustians, assembled on
the aqueduct, bowed their heads and listened in silent rapture. He
sang long, and his motive was ever sadder. At moments, when he
stopped to catch breath, the chorus of singers repeated the last
verse; then Nero cast the tragic "syrma" 1 from his shoulder with a
gesture learned from Aliturus, struck the lute, and sang on. When
at last he had finished the lines composed, he improvised, seeking
grandiose comparisons in the spectacle unfolded before him. His
face began to change. He was not moved, it is true, by the
destruction of his country's capital; but he was delighted and
moved with the pathos of his own words to such a degree that his
eyes filled with tears on a sudden. At last he dropped the lute to his
feet with a clatter, and, wrapping himself in the "syrma," stood as
if petrified, like one of those statues of Niobe which ornamented
the courtyard of the Palatine.
Soon a storm of applause broke the silence. But in the distance this
was answered by the howling of multitudes. No one doubted then
that Caesar had given command to burn the city, so as to afford
himself a spectacle and sing a song at it. Nero, when he heard that
cry from hundreds of thousands, turned to the Augustians with the
sad, resigned smile of a man who is suffering from injustice.
"See," said he, "how the Quirites value poetry and me."
"Scoundrels!" answered Vatinius. "Command the pretorians, lord,
to fall on them."
Nero turned to Tigellinus, --
"Can I count on the loyalty of the soldiers?" "Yes, divinity,"
answered the prefect.
But Petronius shrugged his shoulders, and said, --
"On their loyalty, yes, but not on their numbers. Remain
meanwhile where thou art, for here it is safest; but there is need to
pacify the people."
Seneca was of this opinion also, as was Licinus the consul.
Meanwhile the excitement below was increasing. The people were
arming with stones, tent-poles, sticks from the wagons, planks, and
various pieces of iron. After a while some of the pretorian leaders
came, declaring that the cohorts, pressed by the multitude, kept the
line of battle with extreme difficulty, and, being without orders to
attack, they knew not what to do.
"O gods," said Nero, "what a night!" On one side a fire, on the
other a raging sea of people. And he fell to seeking expressions the
most splendid to describe the danger of the moment, but, seeing
around him alarmed looks and pale faces, he was frightened, with
the others.
"Give me my dark mantle with a hood!" cried he; "must it come
really to battle?"
"Lord," said Tigellinus, in an uncertain voice, "I have done what I
could, but danger is threatening. Speak, O lord, to the people, and
make them promises."
"Shall Caesar speak to the rabble? Let another do that in my name.
Who will undertake it?"
"I!" answered Petronius, calmly.
"Go, my friend; thou art most faithful to me in every necessity. Go,
and spare no promises."
Petronius turned to the retinue with a careless, sarcastic
expression, --
"Senators here present, also Piso, Nerva, and Senecio, follow me."
Then he descended the aqueduct slowly. Those whom he had
summoned followed, not without hesitation, but with a certain
confidence which his calmness had given them. Petronius, halting
at the foot of the arches, gave command to bring him a white
horse, and, mounting, rode on, at the head of the cavalcade,
between the deep ranks of pretorians, to the black, howling
multitude; he was unarmed, having only a slender ivory cane
which he carried habitually.
When he had ridden up, he pushed his horse into the throng. All
around, visible in the light of the burning, were upraised hands,
armed with every manner of weapon, inflamed eyes, sweating
faces, bellowing and foaming lips. A mad sea of people
surrounded him and his attendants; round about was a sea of
heads, moving, roaring, dreadful.
The outbursts increased and became an unearthly roar; poles,
forks, and even swords were brandished above Petronius; grasping
hands were stretched toward his horse's reins and toward him, but
he rode farther; cool, indifferent, contemptuous. At moments he
struck the most insolent heads with his cane, as if clearing a road
for himself in an ordinary crowd; and that confidence of his, that
calmness, amazed the raging rabble. They recognized him at
length, and numerous voices began to shout, --
"Petronius! Arbiter Elegantiarum! Petronius! Petronius!" was heard
on all sides. And as that name was repeated, the faces about
became less terrible, the uproar less savage: for that exquisite
patrician, though he had never striven for the favor of the
populace, was still their favorite. He passed for a humane and
magnanimous man; and his popularity had increased, especially
since the affair of Pedanius Secundus, when he spoke in favor of
mitigating the cruel sentence condemning all the slaves of that
prefect to death. The a slaves more especially loved him
thenceforward with that unbounded love which the oppressed or
unfortunate are accustomed to give those who show them even
small sympathy. Besides, in that moment was added curiosity as to
what Caesar's envoy would say, for no one doubted that Caesar had
sent him.
He removed his white toga, bordered with scarlet, raised it in the
air, and waved it above his head, in sign that he wished to speak.
"Silence! Silence!" cried the people on all sides.
After a while there was silence. Then he straightened himself on
the horse and said in a clear, firm voice, --
"Citizens, let those who hear me repeat my words to those who are
more distant, and bear yourselves, all of you, like men, not like
beasts in the arena."
"We will, we will!"
"Then listen. The city will be rebuilt. The gardens of Lucullus,
Maaecenas, Caesar, and Agrippina will be opened to you.
To-morrow will begin the distribution of wheat, wine, and olives,
so that every man may be full to the throat. Then Caesar will have
games for you, such as the world has not seen yet; during these
games banquets and gifts will be given you. Ye will be richer after
the fire than before it."
A murmur answered him which spread from the centre in every
direction, as a wave rises on water in which a stone has been cast.
Those nearer repeated his words to those more distant. Afterward
were heard here and there shouts of anger or applause, which
turned at length into one universal call of "Panem et circenses!!!"
Petronius wrapped himself in his toga and listened for a time
without moving, resembling in his white garment a marble statue.
The uproar in-creased, drowned the roar of the fire, was answered
from every side and from ever-increasing distances. But evidently
the envoy had something to add, for he waited. Finally,
commanding silence anew, he cried, -- "I promised you panem et
cireenses; and now give a shout in honor of Caesar, who feeds and
clothes you; then go to sleep, dear populace, for the dawn will
begin before long."
He turned his horse then, and, tapping lightly with his cane the
heads and faces of those who stood in his way, he rode slowly to
the pretorian ranks. Soon he was under the aqueduct. He found
almost a panic above, where they had not understood the shout
"Panem et circenses," and supposed it to be a new outburst of rage.
They had not even expected that Petronius would save himself; so
Nero, when he saw him, ran to the steps, and with face pale from
emotion, inquired,--
"Well, what are they doing? Is there a battle?"
Petronius drew air into his lungs, breathed deeply, and answered, --
"By Pollux! they are sweating! and such a stench! Will some one
give me an epilimma? -- for I am faint." Then he turned to Caesar.
"I promised them," said he, "wheat, olives, the opening of the
gardens, and games. They worship thee anew, and are howling in
thy honor. Gods, what a foul odor those plebeians have!"
"I had pretorians ready," cried Tigellinus; "and hadst thou not
quieted them, the shouters would have been silenced forever. It is
a pity, Caesar, that thou didst not let me use force."
Petronius looked at him, shrugged his shoulders, and added, --
"The chance is not lost. Thou mayst have to use it to-morrow."
"No, no!" cried Caesar, "I will give command to open the gardens
to them, and distribute wheat. Thanks to thee, Petronius, I will
have games; and that song, which I sang to-day, I will sing
publicly."
Then he placed his hands on the arbiter's shoulder, was silent a
moment, and starting up at last inquired, --
"Tell me sincerely, how did I seem to thee while I was singing?"
"Thou wert worthy of the spectacle, and the spectacle was worthy
of thee," said Petronius.
"But let us look at it again," said he, turning to the fire, "and bid
farewell to ancient Rome."
1 A robe with train, worn especially by tragic actors. _
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