Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Quo Vadis by Henryk Sienkiewicz (detective books to read .TXT) 📖
- Author: Henryk Sienkiewicz
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giving thee to me. How often in my sorrow have I cursed him; but
perhaps fate ordained thus, for otherwise I should not have known the
Christians, and should not have understood thee.”
“Believe me, Marcus,” replied Lygia, “it was Christ who led thee to
Himself by design.”
Vinicius raised his head with a certain astonishment.
“True,” answered he, with animation. “Everything fixed itself so
marvellously that in seeking thee I met the Christians. In Ostrianum I
listened to the Apostle with wonder, for I had never heard such words.
And there thou didst pray for me?”
“I did,” answered Lygia.
They passed near the summer-house covered with thick ivy, and approached
the place where Ursus, after stifling Croton, threw himself upon
Vinicius.
“Here,” said the young man, “I should have perished but for thee.”
“Do not mention that,” answered Lygia, “and do not speak of it to
Ursus.”
“Could I be revenged on him for defending thee? Had he been a slave, I
should have given him freedom straightway.”
“Had he been a slave, Aulus would have freed him long ago.”
“Dost thou remember,” asked Vinicius, “that I wished to take thee back
to Aulus, but the answer was, that Cæsar might hear of it and take
revenge on Aulus and Pomponia? Think of this: thou mayst see them now
as often as thou wishest.”
“How, Marcus?”
“I say ‘now,’ and I think that thou wilt be able to see them without
danger, when thou art mine. For should Cæsar hear of this, and ask what
I did with the hostage whom he gave me, I should say ‘I married her, and
she visits the house of Aulus with my consent.’ He will not remain long
in Antium, for he wishes to go to Achæa; and even should he remain, I
shall not need to see him daily. When Paul of Tarsus teaches me your
faith, I will receive baptism at once, I will come here, gain the
friendship of Aulus and Pomponia, who will return to the city by that
time, and there will be no further hindrance, I will seat thee at my
hearth. Oh, carissima! carissima!”
And he stretched forth his hand, as if taking Heaven as witness of his
love; and Lygia, raising her clear eyes to him, said,—
“And then I shall say, ‘Wherever thou art, Caius, there am I, Caia.’”
“No, Lygia,” cried Vinicius, “I swear to thee that never has woman been
so honored in the house of her husband as thou shalt be in mine.”
For a time they walked on in silence, without being able to take in with
their breasts their happiness, in love with each other, like two
deities, and as beautiful as if spring had given them to the world with
the flowers.
They halted at last under the cypress growing near the entrance of the
house. Lygia leaned against his breast, and Vinicius began to entreat
again with a trembling voice,—“Tell Ursus to go to the house of Aulus
for thy furniture and playthings of childhood.”
But she, blushing like a rose or like the dawn, answered,—“Custom
commands otherwise.”
“I know that. The pronuba [The matron who accompanies the bride and
explains to her the duties of a wife] usually brings them behind the
bride, but do this for me. I will take them to my villa in Antium, and
they will remind me of thee.”
Here he placed his hands together and repeated, like a child who is
begging for something,—“It will be some days before Pomponia returns;
so do this, diva, do this, carissima.”
“But Pomponia will do as she likes,” answered Lygia, blushing still more
deeply at mention of the pronuba.
And again they were silent, for love had begun to stop the breath in
their breasts. Lygia stood with shoulders leaning against the cypress,
her face whitening in the shadow, like a flower, her eyes drooping, her
bosom heaving with more and more life. Vinicius changed in the face,
and grew pale. In the silence of the afternoon they only heard the
beating of their hearts, and in their mutual ecstasy that cypress, the
myrtle bushes, and the ivy of the summer-house became for them a
paradise of love. But Miriam appeared in the door, and invited them to
the afternoon meal. They sat down then with the Apostles, who gazed at
them with pleasure, as on the young generation which after their death
would preserve and sow still further the seed of the new faith. Peter
broke and blessed bread. There was calm on all faces, and a certain
immense happiness seemed to overflow the whole house.
“See,” said Paul at last, turning to Vinicius, “are we enemies of life
and happiness?”
“I know how that is,” answered Vinicius, “for never have I been so happy
as among you.”
ON the evening of that day Vinicius, while returning home through the
Forum, saw at the entrance to the Vicus Tuscus the gilded litter of
Petronius, carried by eight stalwart Bithynians, and, stopping it with a
sign of his hand, he approached the curtains.
“Thou hast had a pleasant dream, I trust, and a happy one!” cried he,
laughing at sight of the slumbering Petronius.
“Oh, is it thou?” said Petronius, waking up. “Yes; I dropped asleep for
a moment, as I passed the night at the Palatine. I have come out to buy
something to read on the road to Antium. What is the news?”
“Art thou visiting the book-shops?” inquired Vinicius.
“Yes, I do not like to bring disorder into my library, so I am
collecting a special supply for the journey. It is likely that some new
things of Musonius and Seneca have come out. I am looking also for
Persius, and a certain edition of the Eclogues of Vergilius, which I do
not possess. Oh, how tired I am; and how my hands ache from covers and
rings! For when a man is once in a book-shop curiosity seizes him to
look here and there. I was at the shop of Avirnus, and at that of
Atractus on the Argiletum, and with the Sozii on Vicus Sandalarius. By
Castor! how I want to sleep!”
“Thou wert on the Palatine? Then I would ask thee what is it to be
heard there? Or, knowest what?—send home the litter and the tubes with
books, and come to my house. We will talk of Antium, and of something
else.”
“That is well,” answered Petronius, coming out of the litter. “Thou
must know, besides, that we start for Antium the day after tomorrow.”
“Whence should I know that?”
“In what world art thou living? Well, I shall be the first to announce
the news to thee. Yes; be ready for the day after tomorrow in the
morning. Peas in olive oil have not helped, a cloth around his thick
neck has not helped, and Bronzebeard is hoarse. In view of this, delay
is not to be mentioned. He curses Rome and its atmosphere, with what
the world stands on; he would be glad to level it to the earth or to
destroy it with fire, and he longs for the sea at the earliest. He says
that the smells which the wind brings from the narrow streets are
driving him into the grave. To-day great sacrifices were offered in all
the temples to restore his voice; and woe to Rome, but especially to the
Senate, should it not return quickly!”
“Then there would be no reason for his visit to Achæa?”
“But is that the only talent possessed by our divine Cæsar?” asked
Petronius, smiling. “He would appear in the Olympic games, as a poet,
with his ‘Burning of Troy’; as a charioteer, as a musician, as an
athlete,—nay, even as a dancer, and would receive in every case all the
crowns intended for victors. Dost know why that monkey grew hoarse?
Yesterday he wanted to equal our Paris in dancing, and danced for us the
adventures of Leda, during which he sweated and caught cold. He was as
wet and slippery as an eel freshly taken from water. He changed masks
one after another, whirled like a spindle, waved his hands like a
drunken sailor, till disgust seized me while looking at that great
stomach and those slim legs. Paris taught him during two weeks; but
imagine to thyself Ahenobarbus as Leda or as the divine swan. That was a
swan!—there is no use in denying it. But he wants to appear before the
public in that pantomime,—first in Antium, and then in Rome.”
“People are offended already because he sang in public; but to think
that a Roman Cæsar will appear as a mime! No; even Rome will not endure
that!”
“My dear friend, Rome will endure anything; the Senate will pass a vote
of thanks to the ‘Father of his country.’ And the rabble will be elated
because Cæsar is its buffoon.”
“Say thyself, is it possible to be more debased?”
Petronius shrugged his shoulders. “Thou art living by thyself at home,
and meditating, now about Lygia, now about Christians, so thou knowest
not, perhaps, what happened two days since. Nero married, in public,
Pythagoras, who appeared as a bride. That passed the measure of
madness, it would seem, would it not? And what wilt thou say? the
flamens, who were summoned, came and performed the ceremony with
solemnity. I was present. I can endure much; still I thought, I
confess, that the gods, if there be any, should give a sign. But Cæsar
does not believe in the gods, and he is right.”
“So he is in one person chief priest, a god, and an atheist,” said
Vinicius.
“True,” said Petronius, beginning to laugh. “That had not entered my
head; but the combination is such as the world has not seen.” Then,
stopping a moment, he said: “One should add that this chief priest who
does not believe in the gods, and this god who reviles the gods, fears
them in his character of atheist.”
“The proof of this is what happened in the temple of Vesta.” “What a
society!”
“As the society is, so is Cæsar. But this will not last long.”
Thus conversing, they entered the house of Vinicius, who called for
supper joyously; then, turning to Petronius he said,—“No, my dear,
society must be renewed.”
“We shall not renew it,” answered Petronius, “even for the reason that
in Nero’s time man is like a butterfly,—he lives in the sunshine of
favor, and at the first cold wind he perishes, even against his will.
By the son of Maia! more than once have I given myself this question: By
what miracle has such a man as Lucius Saturninus been able to reach the
age of ninety-three, to survive Tiberius, Caligula, Claudius? But never
mind. Wilt thou permit me to send thy litter for Eunice? My wish to
sleep has gone, somehow, and I should like to be joyous. Give command
to cithara players to come to the supper, and afterward we will talk of
Antium. It is needful to think of it, especially for thee.”
Vinicius gave the order to send for Eunice, but declared that he had no
thought of breaking his head over the stay in Antium.
“Let those break their heads who cannot live otherwise than in the rays
of Cæsar’s favor. The world does not end on the Palatine, especially
for those who have something else in their hearts and souls.”
He said this so carelessly and with such animation and gladness that his
whole manner struck
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