Quo Vadis: A Narrative of the Time of Nero
again,--“Crispus, dost thou think that Christ, who permitted Mary of
Magdala to lie at his feet, and who forgave the public sinner, would
turn from this maiden, who is as pure as a lily of the field?”
Lygia nestled up more urgently to the feet of Peter, with sobbing,
understanding that she had not sought refuge in vain. The Apostle raised
her face, which was covered with tears, and said to her,--“While the
eyes of him whom thou lovest are not open to the light of truth, avoid
him, lest he bring thee to sin, but pray for him, and know that there is
no sin in thy love. And since it is thy wish to avoid temptation, this
will be accounted to thee as a merit. Do not suffer, and do not weep;
for I tell thee that the grace of the Redeemer has not deserted thee,
and that thy prayers will be heard; after sorrow will come days of
gladness.”
When he had said this, he placed both hands on her head, and, raising
his eyes, blessed her. From his face there shone a goodness beyond that
of earth.
The penitent Crispus began humbly to explain himself; “I have sinned
against mercy,” said he; “but I thought that by admitting to her heart
an earthly love she had denied Christ.”
“I denied Him thrice,” answered Peter, “and still He forgave me, and
commanded me to feed His sheep.”
“And because,” concluded Crispus, “Vinicius is an Augustian.”
“Christ softened harder hearts than his,” replied Peter.
Then Paul of Tarsus, who had been silent so far, placed his finger on
his breast, pointing to himself, and said,--“I am he who persecuted
and hurried servants of Christ to their death; I am he who during the
stoning of Stephen kept the garments of those who stoned him; I am he
who wished to root out the truth in every part of the inhabited earth,
and yet the Lord predestined me to declare it in every land. I have
declared it in Judea, in Greece, on the Islands, and in this godless
city, where first I resided as a prisoner. And now when Peter, my
superior, has summoned me, I enter this house to bend that proud head to
the feet of Christ, and cast a grain of seed in that stony field,
which the Lord will fertilize, so that it may bring forth a bountiful
harvest.”
And he rose. To Crispus that diminutive hunchback seemed then that
which he was in reality,--a giant, who was to stir the world to its
foundations and gather in lands and nations.
Chapter XXVIII
PETRONIUS to VINICIUS:--“Have pity, carissime; imitate not in thy
letters the Lacedemonians or Julius Cæsar! Couldst thou, like Julius,
write Veni, vidi, vici (I came, I saw, I conquered), I might understand
thy brevity. But thy letter means absolutely Veni, vidi, fugi (I came, I
saw, I fled). Since such a conclusion of the affair is directly opposed
to thy nature, since thou art wounded, and since, finally, uncommon
things are happening to thee, thy letter needs explanation. I could
not believe my eyes when I read that the Lygian giant killed Croton as
easily as a Caledonian dog would kill a wolf in the defiles of Hibernia.
That man is worth as much gold as he himself weighs, and it depends on
him alone to become a favorite of Cæsar. When I return to the city,
I must gain a nearer acquaintance with that Lygian, and have a bronze
statue of him made for myself. Ahenobarbus will burst from curiosity,
when I tell him that it is from nature. Bodies really athletic are
becoming rarer in Italy and in Greece; of the Orient no mention need be
made; the Germans, though large, have muscles covered with fat, and
are greater in bulk than in strength. Learn from the Lygian if he is an
exception, or if in his country there are more men like him. Should it
happen sometime to thee or me to organize games officially, it would be
well to know where to seek for the best bodies.
“But praise to the gods of the Orient and the Occident that thou hast
come out of such hands alive. Thou hast escaped, of course, because
thou art a patrician, and the son of a consul; but everything which has
happened astonishes me in the highest degree,--that cemetery where thou
wert among the Christians, they, their treatment of thee, the subsequent
flight of Lygia; finally, that peculiar sadness and disquiet which
breathes from thy short letter. Explain, for there are many points
which I cannot understand; and if thou wish the truth, I will tell thee
plainly, that I understand neither the Christians nor thee nor Lygia.
Wonder not that I, who care for few things on earth except my own
person, inquire of thee so eagerly. I have contributed to all this
affair of thine; hence it is my affair so far. Write soon, for I cannot
foresee surely when we may meet. In Bronzebeard’s head plans change, as
winds do in autumn. At present, while tarrying in Beneventum, he has the
wish to go straightway to Greece, without returning to Rome. Tigellinus,
however, advises him to visit the city even for a time, since the
people, yearning overmuch for his person (read ‘for games and bread’)
may revolt. So I cannot tell how it will be. Should Achæa overbalance,
we may want to see Egypt. I should insist with all my might on thy
coming, for I think that in thy state of mind travelling and our
amusements would be a medicine, but thou mightst not find us. Consider,
then, whether in that case repose in thy Sicilian estates would not
be preferable to remaining in Rome. Write me minutely of thyself, and
farewell. I add no wish this time, except health; for, by Pollux! I know
not what to wish thee.”
Vinicius, on receiving this letter, felt at first no desire to reply.
He had a kind of feeling that it was not worth while to reply, that an
answer would benefit no one in any way, that it would explain nothing.
Discontent, and a feeling of the vanity of life, possessed him. He
thought, moreover, that Petronius would not comprehend him in any case,
and that something had happened which would remove them from each other.
He could not come to an agreement with himself, even. When he returned
from the Trans-Tiber to his splendid “insula,” he was exhausted, and
found for the first days a certain satisfaction in rest and in the
comfort and abundance about him. That satisfaction lasted but a short
time, however. He felt soon that he was living in vanity; that all which
so far had formed the interest of his life either had ceased to exist
for him or had shrunk to proportions barely perceptible. He had a
feeling as if those ties which hitherto had connected him with life
had been cut in his soul, and that no new ones had been formed. At the
thought that he might go to Beneventum and thence to Achæa, to swim in a
life of luxury and wild excess, he had a feeling of emptiness. “To what
end? What shall I gain from it?” These were the first questions which
passed through his head. And for the first time in life, also, he
thought that if he went, the conversation of Petronius, his wit, his
quickness, his exquisite outlining of thought, and his choice of apt
phrases for every idea might annoy him.
But solitude, too, had begun to annoy him. All his acquaintances were
with Cæsar in Beneventum; so he had to stay at home alone, with a
head full of thoughts, and a heart full of feelings which he could not
analyze. He had moments, however, in which he judged that if he could
converse with some one about everything that took place in him, perhaps
he might be able to grasp it all somehow, bring it to order, and
estimate it better. Under the influence of this hope, and after some
days of hesitation, he decided to answer Petronius; and, though not
certain that he would send the answer, he wrote it in the following
words:--
“It is thy wish that I write more minutely, agreed then; whether I shall
be able to do it more clearly, I cannot tell, for there are many knots
which I know not myself how to loosen. I described to thee my stay among
the Christians, and their treatment of enemies, among whom they had a
right to count both me and Chilo; finally, of the kindness with which
they nursed me, and of the disappearance of Lygia. No, my dear friend, I
was not spared because of being the son of a consul. Such considerations
do not exist for them, since they forgave even Chilo, though I urged
them to bury him in the garden. Those are people such as the world has
not seen hitherto, and their teaching is of a kind that the world has
not heard up to this time. I can say nothing else, and he errs who
measures them with our measure. I tell thee that, if I had been lying
with a broken arm in my own house, and if my own peoples, even my own
family, had nursed me, I should have had more comforts, of course, but I
should not have received half the care which I found among them.
“Know this, too, that Lygia is like the others. Had she been my sister
or my wife, she could not have nursed me more tenderly. Delight filled
my heart more than once, for I judged that love alone could inspire the
like tenderness. More than once I saw love in her look, in her face;
and, wilt thou believe me? among those simple people then in that poor
chamber, which was at once a culina and a triclinium, I felt happier
than ever before. No; she was not indifferent to me--and to-day even I
cannot think that she was. Still that same Lygia left Miriam’s dwelling
in secret because of me. I sit now whole days with my head on my hands,
and think, Why did she do so? Have I written thee that I volunteered
to restore her to Aulus? True, she declared that to be impossible at
present, because Aulus and Pomponia had gone to Sicily, and because news
of her return going from house to house, through slaves, would reach the
Palatine, and Cæsar might take her from Aulus again. But she knew that I
would not pursue her longer; that I had left the way of violence; that,
unable to cease loving her or to live without her, I would bring her
into my house through a wreathed door, and seat her on a sacred skin at
my hearth. Still she fled! Why? Nothing was threatening her. Did she not
love me, she might have rejected me. The day before her flight, I made
the acquaintance of a wonderful man, a certain Paul of Tarsus, who spoke
to me of Christ and His teachings, and spoke with such power that every
word of his, without his willing it, turns all the foundations of our
society into ashes. That same man visited me after her flight, and said:
‘If God open thy eyes to the light, and take the beam from them as He
took it from mine, thou wilt feel that she acted properly; and then,
perhaps, thou wilt find her.’ And now I am breaking my head over these
words, as if I had heard them from the mouth of the Pythoness at Delphi.
I seem to understand something. Though they love people, the Christians
are enemies of our life, our gods, and our crimes; hence she fled from
me, as from a man who belongs to our society, and with whom she would
have to share a life counted criminal by Christians. Thou wilt say that
since she might reject me, she had no need to withdraw. But if she loved
me? In that case she desired to flee from love. At the very thought of
this I wish to send slaves into every alley in Rome, and command them
to cry throughout the houses, ‘Return, Lygia!’ But I cease to understand
why she fled. I should not have stopped her from believing in her
Christ, and would myself have reared an altar to Him in the atrium. What
harm could one more god do me? Why might I not believe in him,--I who
do not believe overmuch in the old gods? I know with full certainty that
the Christians do not lie; and they say that he rose from the dead.
A man cannot rise from the dead. That Paul of Tarsus, who is a Roman
citizen, but who, as a Jew, knows the old Hebrew writings, told me that
the coming of Christ was promised by prophets for whole thousands of
years. All these are uncommon things, but does not the uncommon surround