Quo Vadis: A Narrative of the Time of Nero
him. In fact the son of Miriam did not, in his eyes, mean much more than
a dog; besides, he was a child yet, who, if he loved Lygia, loved her
unconsciously and servilely. Greater struggles must the young tribune
have with himself to submit, even in silence, to that honor with which
among those people the name of Christ and His religion was surrounded.
In this regard wonderful things took place in Vinicius. That was in
every case a religion which Lygia believed; hence for that single reason
he was ready to receive it. Afterward, the more he returned to health,
the more he remembered the whole series of events which had happened
since that night at Ostrianum, and the whole series of thoughts which
had come to his head from that time, the more he was astonished at the
superhuman power of that religion which changed the souls of men
to their foundations. He understood that in it there was something
uncommon, something which had not been on earth before, and he felt that
could it embrace the whole world, could it ingraft on the world its love
and charity, an epoch would come recalling that in which not Jupiter,
but Saturn had ruled. He did not dare either to doubt the supernatural
origin of Christ, or His resurrection, or the other miracles. The
eye-witnesses who spoke of them were too trustworthy and despised
falsehood too much to let him suppose that they were telling things that
had not happened. Finally, Roman scepticism permitted disbelief in the
gods, but believed in miracles. Vinicius, therefore, stood before a
kind of marvellous puzzle which he could not solve. On the other hand,
however, that religion seemed to him opposed to the existing state of
things, impossible of practice, and mad in a degree beyond all others.
According to him, people in Rome and in the whole world might be bad,
but the order of things was good. Had Cæsar, for example, been an honest
man, had the Senate been composed, not of insignificant libertines,
but of men like Thrasea, what more could one wish? Nay, Roman peace and
supremacy were good; distinction among people just and proper. But that
religion, according to the understanding of Vinicius, would destroy all
order, all supremacy, every distinction. What would happen then to the
dominion and lordship of Rome? Could the Romans cease to rule, or could
they recognize a whole herd of conquered nations as equal to themselves?
That was a thought which could find no place in the head of a patrician.
As regarded him personally, that religion was opposed to all his ideas
and habits, his whole character and understanding of life. He was simply
unable to imagine how he could exist were he to accept it. He feared
and admired it; but as to accepting it, his nature shuddered at that. He
understood, finally, that nothing save that religion separated him from
Lygia; and when he thought of this, he hated it with all the powers of
his soul.
Still he acknowledged to himself that it had adorned Lygia with that
exceptional, unexplained beauty which in his heart had produced, besides
love, respect, besides desire, homage, and had made of that same Lygia
a being dear to him beyond all others in the world. And then he wished
anew to love Christ. And he understood clearly that he must either love
or hate Him; he could not remain indifferent. Meanwhile two opposing
currents were as if driving him: he hesitated in thoughts, in feelings;
he knew not how to choose, he bowed his head, however, to that God by
him uncomprehended, and paid silent honor for this sole reason, that He
was Lygia’s God.
Lygia saw what was happening in him; she saw how he was breaking
himself, how his nature was rejecting that religion; and though this
mortified her to the death, compassion, pity, and gratitude for the
silent respect which he showed Christ inclined her heart to him with
irresistible force. She recalled Pomponia Græcina and Aulus. For
Pomponia a source of ceaseless sorrow and tears that never dried was the
thought that beyond the grave she would not find Aulus. Lygia began now
to understand better that pain, that bitterness. She too had found a
being dear to her, and she was threatened by eternal separation from
this dear one.
At times, it is true, she was self-deceived, thinking that his soul
would open itself to Christ’s teaching; but these illusions could
not remain. She knew and understood him too well. Vinicius a
Christian!--These two ideas could find no place together in her
unenlightened head. If the thoughtful, discreet Aulus had not become
a Christian under the influence of the wise and perfect Pomponia, how
could Vinicius become one? To this there was no answer, or rather there
was only one,--that for him there was neither hope nor salvation.
But Lygia saw with terror that that sentence of condemnation which hung
over him instead of making him repulsive made him still dearer simply
through compassion. At moments the wish seized her to speak to him of
his dark future; but once, when she had sat near him and told him that
outside Christian truth there was no life, he, having grown stronger
at that time, rose on his sound arm and placed his head on her knees
suddenly. “Thou art life!” said he. And that moment breath failed in her
breast, presence of mind left her, a certain quiver of ecstasy rushed
over her from head to feet. Seizing his temples with her hands, she
tried to raise him, but bent the while so that her lips touched his
hair; and for a moment both were overcome with delight, with themselves,
and with love, which urged them the one to the other.
Lygia rose at last and rushed away, with a flame in her veins and a
giddiness in her head; but that was the drop which overflowed the cup
filled already to the brim. Vinicius did not divine how dearly he would
have to pay for that happy moment, but Lygia understood that now she
herself needed rescue. She spent the night after that evening without
sleep, in tears and in prayer, with the feeling that she was unworthy
to pray and could not be heard. Next morning she went from the cubiculum
early, and, calling Crispus to the garden summer-house, covered with ivy
and withered vines, opened her whole soul to him, imploring him at the
same time to let her leave Miriam’s house, since she could not trust
herself longer, and could not overcome her heart’s love for Vinicius.
Crispus, an old man, severe and absorbed in endless enthusiasm,
consented to the plan of leaving Miriam’s house, but he had no words
of forgiveness for that love, to his thinking sinful. His heart swelled
with indignation at the very thought that Lygia, whom he had guarded
since the time of her flight, whom he had loved, whom he had confirmed
in the faith, and on whom he looked now as a white lily grown up on the
field of Christian teaching undefiled by any earthly breath, could have
found a place in her soul for love other than heavenly. He had believed
hitherto that nowhere in the world did there beat a heart more purely
devoted to the glory of Christ. He wanted to offer her to Him as
a pearl, a jewel, the precious work of his own hands; hence the
disappointment which he felt filled him with grief and amazement.
“Go and beg God to forgive thy fault,” said he, gloomily. “Flee before
the evil spirit who involved thee bring thee to utter fall, and before
thou oppose the Saviour. God died on the cross to redeem thy soul with
His blood, but thou hast preferred to love him who wished to make thee
his concubine. God saved thee by a miracle of His own hands, but thou
hast opened thy heart to impure desire, and hast loved the son of
darkness. Who is he? The friend and servant of Antichrist, his copartner
in crime and profligacy. Whither will he lead thee, if not to that abyss
and to that Sodom in which he himself is living, but which God will
destroy with the flame of His anger? But I say to thee, would thou hadst
died, would the walls of this house had fallen on thy head before that
serpent had crept into thy bosom and beslimed it with the poison of
iniquity.”
And he was borne away more and more, for Lygia’s fault filled him not
only with anger but with loathing and contempt for human nature in
general, and in particular for women, whom even Christian truth could
not save from Eve’s weakness. To him it seemed nothing that the maiden
had remained pure, that she wished to flee from that love, that she
had confessed it with compunction and penitence. Crispus had wished
to transform her into an angel, to raise her to heights where love for
Christ alone existed, and she had fallen in love with an Augustian. The
very thought of that filled his heart with horror, strengthened by a
feeling of disillusion and disappointment. No, no, he could not forgive
her. Words of horror burned his lips like glowing coals; he struggled
still with himself not to utter them, but he shook his emaciated hands
over the terrified girl. Lygia felt guilty, but not to that degree. She
had judged even that withdrawal from Miriam’s house would be her victory
over temptation, and would lessen her fault. Crispus rubbed her into the
dust; showed her all the misery and insignificance of her soul, which
she had not suspected hitherto. She had judged even that the old
presbyter, who from the moment of her flight from the Palatine had been
to her as a father, would show some compassion, console her, give her
courage, and strengthen her.
“I offer my pain and disappointment to God,” said he, “but thou hast
deceived the Saviour also, for thou hast gone as it were to a quagmire
which has poisoned thy soul with its miasma. Thou mightst have offered
it to Christ as a costly vessel, and said to Him, ‘Fill it with grace,
O Lord!’ but thou hast preferred to offer it to the servant of the evil
one. May God forgive thee and have mercy on thee; for till thou cast out
the serpent, I who held thee as chosen-”
But he ceased suddenly to speak, for he saw that they were not alone.
Through the withered vines and the ivy, which was green alike in summer
and winter, he saw two men, one of whom was Peter the Apostle. The
other he was unable to recognize at once, for a mantle of coarse woollen
stuff, called cilicium, concealed a part of his face. It seemed to
Crispus for a moment that that was Chilo.
They, hearing the loud voice of Crispus, entered the summer-house and
sat on a stone bench. Peter’s companion had an emaciated face; his head,
which was growing bald, was covered at the sides with curly hair; he had
reddened eyelids and a crooked nose; in the face, ugly and at the same
time inspired, Crispus recognized the features of Paul of Tarsus.
Lygia, casting herself on her knees, embraced Peter’s feet, as if from
despair, and, sheltering her tortured head in the fold of his mantle,
remained thus in silence.
“Peace to your souls!” said Peter.
And seeing the child at his feet he asked what had happened. Crispus
began then to narrate all that Lygia had confessed to him,--her sinful
love, her desire to flee from Miriam’s house,--and his sorrow that a
soul which he had thought to offer to Christ pure as a tear had defiled
itself with earthly feelings for a sharer in all those crimes into which
the pagan world had sunk, and which called for God’s vengeance.
Lygia during his speech embraced with increasing force the feet of
the Apostle, as if wishing to seek refuge near them, and to beg even a
little compassion.
But the Apostle, when he had listened to the end, bent down and placed
his aged hand on her head; then he raised his eyes to the old presbyter,
and said,--“Crispus, hast thou not heard that our beloved Master was in
Cana, at a wedding, and blessed love between man and woman?”
Crispus’s hands dropped, and he looked with astonishment on the speaker,
without power to utter one word. After a moment’s silence Peter asked