‘A curious and interesting anecdote, my Aliturus,’ said Petronius; ‘but Paris has not yet told us whether he misses the multitudinous applause of Rome.’
‘All Rome is here,’ said Paris with a bow to the Emperor. ‘We actors need nothing but the sunshine of approval, and did not the sun, even before it rose above the horizon, bathe Nero in its rays?’
‘So my nurses have told me,’ said Nero.
‘Trust an actor to pay a compliment,’ whispered Vatinius to Tigellinus.
‘Or a poet either,’ said Tigellinus, with a glance at Lucan.
‘Or an adventurer and a parasite either,’ returned the irascible Spaniard, who had overheard the innuendo.
‘Now, if I am to be the arbiter elegantiarum, I will allow no quarrels,’ said Petronius. ‘And I at least am grateful to Paris and Aliturus, and mean to show my gratitude by a compliment. Don’t class me among the poets who recite in the dog-days, for my little poem—written while Paris was dancing “Achilles”—is only four lines long. Spare my blushes and let Lucan—as he is a poet—read it.’
‘Don’t let him read it,’ whispered Tigellinus; ‘he will read it badly on purpose.’
But Petronius handed his little waxen tablets to Lucan, who, with a glance of disdain at Tigellinus, read with perfect expression the four celebrated lines:
‘He fights, plays, revels, loves and whirls, and stands,