“No, lord; Cæsar Caius feared Jehovah’s anger.”
And they raised their heads, for the name of the powerful Jehovah gave them courage; confident in his might, they looked into Nero’s eyes with more boldness.
“Do ye accuse the Christians of burning Rome?” inquired Cæsar. “We, lord, accuse them of this alone,—that they are enemies of the law, of the human race, of Rome, and of thee; that long since they have threatened the city and the world with fire! The rest will be told thee by this man, whose lips are unstained by a lie, for in his mother’s veins flowed the blood of the chosen people.”
Nero turned to Chilo: “Who art thou?”
“One who honors thee, O Cyrus; and, besides, a poor Stoic-”
“I hate the Stoics,” said Nero. “I hate Thrasea; I hate Musonius and Cornutus. Their speech is repulsive to me; their contempt for art, their voluntary squalor and filth.”
“O lord, thy master Seneca has one thousand tables of citrus wood. At thy wish I will have twice as many. I am a Stoic from necessity. Dress my stoicism, O Radiant One, in a garland of roses, put a pitcher of wine before it; it will sing Anacreon in such strains as to deafen every Epicurean.”
Nero, who was pleased by the title “Radiant,” smiled and said,-“Thou dost please me.”
“This man is worth his weight in gold!” cried Tigellinus.
“Put thy liberality with my weight,” answered Chilo, “or the wind will blow my reward away.”