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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something such as he did not see in the faces which surrounded him every
day, or rather every night. There was a certain light, a certain
repose, a certain serenity, flowing directly from the life which all
lived there. And with a species of astonishment he thought that a
beauty and sweetness might exist which he, who chased after beauty and
sweetness continually, had not known. He could not hide the thought in
himself, and said, turning to Pomponia,—“I am considering in my soul
how different this world of yours is from the world which our Nero
rules.”
She raised her delicate face toward the evening light, and said with
simplicity,—“Not Nero, but God, rules the world.”
A moment of silence followed. Near the triclinium were heard in the
alley, the steps of the old general, Vinicius, Lygia, and little Aulus;
but before they arrived, Petronius had put another question—“But
believest thou in the gods, then, Pomponia?”
“I believe in God, who is one, just, and all-powerful,” answered the
wife of Aulus Plautius.
“SHE believes in God who is one, all-powerful, and just,” said
Petronius, when he found himself again in the litter with Vinicius. “If
her God is all-powerful, He controls life and death; and if He is just,
He sends death justly. Why, then, does Pomponia wear mourning for
Julius? In mourning for Julius she blames her God. I must repeat this
reasoning to our Bronzebeard, the monkey, since I consider that in
dialectics I am the equal of Socrates. As to women, I agree that each
has three or four souls, but none of them a reasoning one. Let Pomponia
meditate with Seneca or Cornutus over the question of what their great
Logos is. Let them summon at once the shades of Xenophanes, Parmenides,
Zeno, and Plato, who are as much wearied there in Cimmerian regions as a
finch in a cage. I wished to talk with her and with Plautius about
something else. By the holy stomach of the Egyptian Isis! If I had
told them right out directly why we came, I suppose that their virtue
would have made as much noise as a bronze shield under the blow of a
club. And I did not dare to tell! Wilt thou believe, Vinicius, I did
not dare! Peacocks are beautiful birds, but they have too shrill a cry.
I feared an outburst. But I must praise thy choice. A real ‘rosy-fingered
Aurora.’ And knowest thou what she reminded me of too?—Spring!
not our spring in Italy, where an apple-tree merely puts forth a blossom
here and there, and olive groves grow gray, just as they were gray
before, but the spring which I saw once in Helvetia,—young, fresh,
bright green. By that pale moon, I do not wonder at thee, Marcus; but
know that thou art loving Diana, because Aulus and Pomponia are ready to
tear thee to pieces, as the dogs once tore Actæon.”
Vinicius was silent a time without raising his head; then he began to
speak with a voice broken by passion,—“I desired her before, but now I
desire her still more. When I caught her arm, flame embraced me. I
must have her. Were I Zeus, I would surround her with a cloud, as he
surrounded Io, or I would fall on her in rain, as he fell on Danaë; I
would kiss her lips till it pained! I would hear her scream in my arms.
I would kill Aulus and Pomponia, and bear her home in my arms. I will
not sleep to-night. I will give command to flog one of my slaves, and
listen to his groans—”
“Calm thyself,” said Petronius. “Thou hast the longing of a carpenter
from the Subura.”
“All one to me what thou sayst. I must have her. I have turned to thee
for aid; but if thou wilt not find it, I shall find it myself. Aulus
considers Lygia as a daughter; why should I look on her as a slave? And
since there is no other way, let her ornament the door of my house, let
her anoint it with wolf’s fat, and let her sit at my hearth as wife.”
“Calm thyself, mad descendant of consuls. We do not lead in barbarians
bound behind our cars, to make wives of their daughters. Beware of
extremes. Exhaust simple, honorable methods, and give thyself and me
time for meditation. Chrysothemis seemed to me too a daughter of Jove,
and still I did not marry her, just as Nero did not marry Acte, though
they called her a daughter of King Attalus. Calm thyself! Think that
if she wishes to leave Aulus for thee, he will have no right to detain
her. Know also that thou art not burning alone, for Eros has roused in
her the flame too. I saw that, and it is well to believe me. Have
patience. There is a way to do everything, but to-day I have thought
too much already, and it tires me. But I promise that tomorrow I will
think of thy love, and unless Petronius is not Petronius, he will
discover some method.”
They were both silent again.
“I thank thee,” said Vinicius at last. “May Fortune be bountiful to
thee.”
“Be patient.”
“Whither hast thou given command to bear us?”
“To Chrysothemis.”
“Thou art happy in possessing her whom thou lovest.”
“I? Dost thou know what amuses me yet in Chrysothemis? This, that she
is false to me with my freedman Theokles, and thinks that I do not
notice it. Once I loved her, but now she amuses me with her lying and
stupidity. Come with me to her. Should she begin to flirt with thee,
and write letters on the table with her fingers steeped in wine, know
that I shall not be jealous.”
And he gave command to bear them both to Chrysothemis.
But in the entrance Petronius put his hand on Vinicius’s shoulder, and
said,—“Wait; it seems to me that I have discovered a plan.”
“May all the gods reward thee!”
“I have it! I judge that this plan is infallible. Knowest what,
Marcus?”
“I listen to thee, my wisdom.”
“Well, in a few days the divine Lygia will partake of Demeter’s grain in
thy house.”
“Thou art greater than Cæsar!” exclaimed Vinicius with enthusiasm.
IN fact, Petronius kept his promise. He slept all the day following his
visit to Chrysothemis, it is true; but in the evening he gave command to
bear him to the Palatine, where he had a confidential conversation with
Nero; in consequence of this, on the third day a centurion, at the head
of some tens of pretorian soldiers, appeared before the house of
Plautius.
The period was uncertain and terrible. Messengers of this kind were
more frequently heralds of death. So when the centurion struck the
hammer at Aulus’s door, and when the guard of the atrium announced that
there were soldiers in the anteroom, terror rose through the whole
house. The family surrounded the old general at once, for no one
doubted that danger hung over him above all. Pomponia, embracing his
neck with her arms, clung to him with all her strength, and her blue
lips moved quickly while uttering some whispered phrase. Lygia, with a
face pale as linen, kissed his hand; little Aulus clung to his toga.
From the corridor, from chambers in the lower story intended for
servant-women and attendants, from the bath, from the arches of lower
dwellings, from the whole house, crowds of slaves began to hurry out,
and the cries of “Heu! heu, me miserum!” were heard. The women broke
into great weeping; some scratched their cheeks, or covered their heads
with kerchiefs.
Only the old general himself, accustomed for years to look death
straight in the eye, remained calm, and his short eagle face became as
rigid as if chiselled from stone. After a while, when he had silenced
the uproar, and commanded the attendants to disappear, he said,—“Let me
go, Pomponia. If my end has come, we shall have time to take leave.”
And he pushed her aside gently; but she said,—“God grant thy fate and
mine to be one, O Aulus!”
Then, failing on her knees, she began to pray with that force which fear
for some dear one alone can give.
Aulus passed out to the atrium, where the centurion was waiting for him.
It was old Caius Hasta, his former subordinate and companion in British
wars.
“I greet thee, general,” said he. “I bring a command, and the greeting
of Cæsar; here are the tablets and the signet to show that I come in his
name.”
“I am thankful to Cæsar for the greeting, and I shall obey the command,”
answered Aulus. “Be welcome, Hasta, and say what command thou hast
brought.”
“Aulus Plautius,” began Hasta, “Cæsar has learned that in thy house is
dwelling the daughter of the king of the Lygians, whom that king during
the life of the divine Claudius gave into the hands of the Romans as a
pledge that the boundaries of the empire would never be violated by the
Lygians. The divine Nero is grateful to thee, O general, because thou
hast given her hospitality in thy house for so many years; but, not
wishing to burden thee longer, and considering also that the maiden as a
hostage should be under the guardianship of Cæsar and the senate, he
commands thee to give her into my hands.”
Aulus was too much a soldier and too much a veteran to permit himself
regret in view of an order, or vain words, or complaint. A slight
wrinkle of sudden anger and pain, however, appeared on his forehead.
Before that frown legions in Britain had trembled on a time, and even at
that moment fear was evident on the face of Hasta. But in view of the
order, Aulus Plautius felt defenceless. He looked for some time at the
tablets and the signet; then raising his eyes to the old centurion, he
said calmly,—“Wait, Hasta, in the atrium till the hostage is delivered
to thee.”
After these words he passed to the other end of the house, to the hall
called cus, where Pomponia Græcina, Lygia, and little Aulus were
waiting for him in fear and alarm.
“Death threatens no one, nor banishment to distant islands,” said he;
“still Cæsar’s messenger is a herald of misfortune. It is a question of
thee, Lygia.”
“Of Lygia?” exclaimed Pomponia, with astonishment.
“Yes,” answered Aulus.
And turning to the maiden, he began: “Lygia, thou wert reared in our
house as our own child; I and Pomponia love thee as our daughter. But
know this, that thou art not our daughter. Thou art a hostage, given by
thy people to Rome, and guardianship over thee belongs to Cæsar. Now
Cæsar takes thee from our house.”
The general spoke calmly, but with a certain strange, unusual voice.
Lygia listened to his words, blinking, as if not understanding what the
question was. Pomponia’s cheeks became pallid. In the doors leading
from the corridor to the cus, terrified faces of slaves began to show
themselves a second time.
“The will of Cæsar must be accomplished,” said Aulus.
“Aulus!” exclaimed Pomponia, embracing the maiden with her arms, as if
wishing to defend her, “it would be better for her to die.”
Lygia, nestling up to her breast, repeated, “Mother, mother!” unable in
her sobbing to find other words.
On Aulus’s face anger and pain were reflected again. “If I were alone
in the world,” said he, gloomily, “I would not surrender her alive, and
my relatives might give offerings this day to ‘Jupiter Liberator.’ But
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