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 Cæsar.
“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, Cæsar, 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 Cæsar, “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?”