Quo Vadis by Henryk Sienkiewicz (detective books to read .TXT) đź“–
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hearts; therefore I have not seen Pomponia from the hour when I left her
house. From time to time distant echoes barely reach her that I am
alive and not in danger.”
Here a longing seized Lygia, and her eyes were moist with tears; but she
calmed herself quickly, and said,—“I know that Pomponia, too, yearns
for me; but we have consolation which others have not.”
“Yes,” answered Vinicius, “Christ is your consolation, but I do not
understand that.”
“Look at us! For us there are no partings, no pains, no sufferings; or
if they come they are turned into pleasure. And death itself, which for
you is the end of life, is for us merely its beginning,—the exchange of
a lower for a higher happiness, a happiness less calm for one calmer and
eternal. Consider what must a religion be which enjoins on us love even
for our enemies, forbids falsehood, purifies our souls from hatred, and
promises happiness inexhaustible after death.”
“I heard those teachings in Ostrianum, and I have seen how ye acted with
me and with Chilo; when I remember your deeds, they are like a dream,
and it seems to me that I ought not to believe my ears or eyes. But
answer me this question: Art thou happy?”
“I am,” answered Lygia. “One who confesses Christ cannot be unhappy.”
Vinicius looked at her, as though what she said passed every measure of
human understanding.
“And hast thou no wish to return to Pomponia?”
“I should like, from my whole soul, to return to her; and shall return,
if such be God’s will.”
“I say to thee, therefore, return; and I swear by my lares that I will
not raise a hand against thee.”
Lygia thought for a moment, and answered,—“No, I cannot expose those
near me to danger. Cæsar does not like the Plautiuses. Should I return
—thou knowest how every news is spread throughout Rome by slaves—my
return would be noised about in the city. Nero would hear of it surely
through his slaves, and punish Aulus and Pomponia,—at least take me
from them a second time.”
“True,” answered Vinicius, frowning, “that would be possible. He would
do so, even to show that his will must be obeyed. It is true that he
only forgot thee, or would remember thee, because the loss was not his,
but mine. Perhaps, if he took thee from Aulus and Pomponia, he would
send thee to me and I could give thee back to them.”
“Vinicius, wouldst thou see me again on the Palatine?” inquired Lygia.
He set his teeth, and answered,—“No. Thou art right. I spoke like a
fool! No!”
And all at once he saw before him a precipice, as it were without
bottom. He was a patrician, a military tribune, a powerful man; but
above every power of that world to which he belonged was a madman whose
will and malignity it was impossible to foresee. Only such people as
the Christians might cease to reckon with Nero or fear him,—people for
whom this whole world, with its separations and sufferings, was as
nothing; people for whom death itself was as nothing. All others had to
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.”
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;
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