Quo Vadis: A Narrative of the Time of Nero
tremble before him. The terrors of the time in which they lived showed
themselves to Vinicius in all their monstrous extent. He could not
return Lygia to Aulus and Pomponia, then, through fear that the monster
would remember her, and turn on her his anger; for the very same reason,
if he should take her as wife, he might expose her, himself, and Aulus.
A moment of ill-humor was enough to ruin all. Vinicius felt, for
the first time in life, that either the world must change and be
transformed, or life would become impossible altogether. He understood
also this, which a moment before had been dark to him, that in such
times only Christians could be happy.
But above all, sorrow seized him, for he understood, too, that it was
he who had so involved his own life and Lygia’s that out of the
complication there was scarcely an outcome. And under the influence of
that sorrow he began to speak:
“Dost thou know that thou art happier than I? Thou art in poverty, and
in this one chamber, among simple people, thou hast thy religion and thy
Christ; but I have only thee, and when I lacked thee I was like a beggar
without a roof above him and without bread. Thou art dearer to me than
the whole world. I sought thee, for I could not live without thee. I
wished neither feasts nor sleep. Had it not been for the hope of finding
thee, I should have cast myself on a sword. But I fear death, for if
dead I could not see thee. I speak the pure truth in saying that I shall
not be able to live without thee. I have lived so far only in the hope
of finding and beholding thee. Dost thou remember our conversations at
the house of Aulus? Once thou didst draw a fish for me on the sand, and
I knew not what its meaning was. Dost thou remember how we played ball?
I loved thee then above life, and thou hadst begun already to divine
that I loved thee. Aulus came, frightened us with Libitina, and
interrupted our talk. Pomponia, at parting, told Petronius that God is
one, all-mighty and all-merciful, but it did not even occur to us that
Christ was thy God and hers. Let Him give thee to me and I will love
Him, though He seems to me a god of slaves, foreigners, and beggars.
Thou sittest near me, and thinkest of Him only. Think of me too, or I
shall hate Him. For me thou alone art a divinity. Blessed be thy father
and mother; blessed the land which produced thee! I should wish to
embrace thy feet and pray to thee, give thee honor, homage, offerings,
thou thrice divine! Thou knowest not, or canst not know, how I love
thee.”
Thus speaking, he placed his hand on his pale forehead and closed his
eyes. His nature never knew bounds in love or anger. He spoke with
enthusiasm, like a man who, having lost self-control, has no wish to
observe any measure in words or feelings. But he spoke from the depth
of his soul, and sincerely. It was to be felt that the pain, ecstasy,
desire, and homage accumulated in his breast had burst forth at last
in an irresistible torrent of words. To Lygia his words appeared
blasphemous, but still her heart began to beat as if it would tear the
tunic enclosing her bosom. She could not resist pity for him and his
suffering. She was moved by the homage with which he spoke to her. She
felt beloved and deified without bounds; she felt that that unbending
and dangerous man belonged to her now, soul and body, like a slave;
and that feeling of his submission and her own power filled her with
happiness. Her recollections revived in one moment. He was for her again
that splendid Vinicius, beautiful as a pagan god; he, who in the house
of Aulus had spoken to her of love, and roused as if from sleep her
heart half childlike at that time; he from whose embraces Ursus had
wrested her on the Palatine, as he might have wrested her from flames.
But at present, with ecstasy, and at the same time with pain in his
eagle face, with pale forehead and imploring eyes,--wounded, broken by
love, loving, full of homage and submissive,--he seemed to her such as
she would have wished him, and such as she would have loved with her
whole soul, therefore dearer than he had ever been before.
All at once she understood that a moment might come in which his love
would seize her and bear her away, as a whirlwind; and when she felt
this, she had the same impression that he had a moment before,--that she
was standing on the edge of a precipice. Was it for this that she had
left the house of Aulus? Was it for this that she had saved herself by
flight? Was it for this that she had hidden so long in wretched parts of
the city? Who was that Vinicius? An Augustian, a soldier, a courtier of
Nero! Moreover he took part in his profligacy and madness, as was shown
by that feast, which she could not forget; and he went with others
to the temples, and made offerings to vile gods, in whom he did not
believe, perhaps, but still he gave them official honor. Still more he
had pursued her to make her his slave and mistress, and at the same time
to thrust her into that terrible world of excess, luxury, crime, and
dishonor which calls for the anger and vengeance of God. He seemed
changed, it is true, but still he had just said to her that if she would
think more of Christ than of him, he was ready to hate Christ. It seemed
to Lygia that the very idea of any other love than the love of Christ
was a sin against Him and against religion. When she saw then that other
feelings and desires might be roused in the depth of her soul, she was
seized by alarm for her own future and her own heart.
At this moment of internal struggle appeared Glaucus, who had come to
care for the patient and study his health. In the twinkle of an eye,
anger and impatience were reflected on the face of Vinicius. He was
angry that his conversation with Lygia had been interrupted; and when
Glaucus questioned him, he answered with contempt almost. It is true
that he moderated himself quickly; but if Lygia had any illusions as
to this,--that what he had heard in Ostrianum might have acted on his
unyielding nature,--those illusions must vanish. He had changed only
for her; but beyond that single feeling there remained in his breast the
former harsh and selfish heart, truly Roman and wolfish, incapable not
only of the sweet sentiment of Christian teaching but even of gratitude.
She went away at last filled with internal care and anxiety. Formerly in
her prayers she had offered to Christ a heart calm, and really pure as
a tear. Now that calmness was disturbed. To the interior of the flower a
poisonous insect had come and began to buzz. Even sleep, in spite of the
two nights passed without sleep, brought her no relief. She dreamed
that at Ostrianum Nero, at the head of a whole band of Augustians,
bacchantes, corybantes, and gladiators, was trampling crowds of
Christians with his chariot wreathed in roses; and Vinicius seized her
by the arm, drew her to the quadriga, and, pressing her to his bosom,
whispered “Come with us.”
Chapter XXVII
FROM that moment Lygia showed herself more rarely in the common chamber,
and approached his couch less frequently. But peace did not return to
her. She saw that Vinicius followed her with imploring glance; that he
was waiting for every word of hers, as for a favor; that he suffered and
dared not complain, lest he might turn her away from him; that she alone
was his health and delight. And then her heart swelled with compassion.
Soon she observed, too, that the more she tried to avoid him, the more
compassion she had for him; and by this itself the more tender were the
feelings which rose in her. Peace left her. At times she said to herself
that it was her special duty to be near him always, first, because
the religion of God commands return of good for evil; second, that by
conversing with him, she might attract him to the faith. But at the same
time conscience told her that she was tempting herself; that only love
for him and the charm which he exerted were attracting her, nothing
else. Thus she lived in a ceaseless struggle, which was intensified
daily. At times it seemed that a kind of net surrounded her, and that in
trying to break through it she entangled herself more and more. She had
also to confess that for her the sight of him was becoming more needful,
his voice was becoming dearer, and that she had to struggle with all her
might against the wish to sit at his bedside. When she approached him,
and he grew radiant, delight filled her heart. On a certain day she
noticed traces of tears on his eyelids, and for the first time in life
the thought came to her, to dry them with kisses. Terrified by that
thought, and full of self-contempt, she wept all the night following.
He was as enduring as if he had made a vow of patience. When at moments
his eyes flashed with petulance, self-will, and anger, he restrained
those flashes promptly, and looked with alarm at her, as if to implore
pardon. This acted still more on her. Never had she such a feeling of
being greatly loved as then; and when she thought of this, she felt at
once guilty and happy. Vinicius, too, had changed essentially. In his
conversations with Glaucus there was less pride. It occurred to him
frequently that even that poor slave physician and that foreign woman,
old Miriam, who surrounded him with attention, and Crispus, whom he saw
absorbed in continual prayer, were still human. He was astonished at
such thoughts, but he had them. After a time he conceived a liking for
Ursus, with whom he conversed entire days; for with him he could talk
about Lygia. The giant, on his part, was inexhaustible in narrative, and
while performing the most simple services for the sick man, he began to
show him also some attachment. For Vinicius, Lygia had been at all times
a being of another order, higher a hundred times than those around her:
nevertheless, he began to observe simple and poor people,--a thing which
he had never done before,--and he discovered in them various traits the
existence of which he had never suspected.
Nazarius, however, he could not endure, for it seemed to him that the
young lad had dared to fall in love with Lygia. He had restrained his
aversion for a long time, it is true; but once when he brought her two
quails, which he had bought in the market with his own earned money, the
descendant of the Quirites spoke out in Vinicius, for whom one who had
wandered in from a strange people had less worth than the meanest worm.
When he heard Lygia’s thanks, he grew terribly pale; and when Nazarius
went out to get water for the birds, he said,--“Lygia, canst thou endure
that he should give thee gifts? Dost thou not know that the Greeks call
people of his nation Jewish dogs?”
“I do not know what the Greeks call them; but I know that Nazarius is a
Christian and my brother.”
When she had said this she looked at Vinicius with astonishment and
regret, for he had disaccustomed her to similar outbursts; and he set
his teeth, so as not to tell her that he would have given command to
beat such a brother with sticks, or would have sent him as a compeditus
[A man who labors with chained feet] to dig earth in his Sicilian
vineyards. He restrained himself, however, throttled the anger within
him, and only after a while did he say,--“Pardon me, Lygia. For me thou
art the daughter of a king and the adopted child of Plautius.” And
he subdued himself to that degree that when Nazarius appeared in the
chamber again, he promised him, on returning to his villa, the gift of a
pair of peacocks or flamingoes, of which he had a garden full.
Lygia understood what such victories over himself must have cost him;
but the oftener he gained them the more her heart turned to him. His
merit with regard to Nazarius was less, however, than she supposed.
Vinicius might be indignant for a moment, but he could not be jealous of