Quo Vadis by Henryk Sienkiewicz (detective books to read .TXT) 📖

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 Christlans 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 us on every side?

People have not ceased talking yet of Apollonius of Tyana. Paul’s

statement that there is one God, not a whole assembly of them, seems

sound to me. Perhaps Seneca is of this opinion, and before him many

others. Christ lived, gave Himself to be crucified for the salvation of

the world, and rose from the dead. All this is perfectly certain. I do

not see, therefore, a reason why I should insist on an opposite opinion,

or why I should not rear to Him an altar, if I am ready to rear one to

Serapis, for instance. It would not be difficult for me even to

renounce other gods, for no reasoning mind believes in them at present.

But it seems that all this is not enough yet for the Christians. It is

not enough to honor Christ, one must also live according to His

teachings; and here thou art on the shore of a sea which they command

thee to wade through.

 

“If I promised to do so, they themselves would feel that the promise was

an empty sound of words. Paul told me so openly. Thou knowest how I

love Lygia, and knowest that there is nothing that I would not do for

her. Still, even at her wish, I cannot raise Soracte or Vesuvius on my

shoulders, or place Thrasymene Lake on the palm of my hand, or from

black make my eyes blue, like those of the Lygians. If she so desired,

I could have the wish, but the change does not lie in my power. I am

not a philosopher, but also I am not so dull as I have seemed, perhaps,

more than once to thee. I will state now the following: I know not how

the Christians order their own lives, but I know that where their

religion begins, Roman rule ends, Rome itself ends, our mode of life

ends, the distinction between conquered and conqueror, between rich and

poor, lord and slave, ends, government ends, Cæsar ends, law and all the

order of the world ends; and in place of those appear Christ, with a

certain mercy not existent hitherto, and kindness, opposed to human and

our Roman instincts. It is true that Lygia is more to me than all Rome

and its lordship; and I would let society vanish could I have her in my

house. But that is another thing. Agreement in words does not satisfy

the Christians; a man must feel that their teaching is truth, and not

have aught else in his soul. But that, the gods are my witnesses, is

beyond me. Dost understand what that means? There is something in my

nature which shudders at this religion; and were my lips to glorify it,

were I to conform to its precepts, my soul and my reason would say that

I do so through love for Lygia, and that apart from her there is to me

nothing on earth more repulsive. And, a strange thing, Paul of Tarsus

understands this, and so does that old theurgus Peter, who in spite of

all his simplicity and low origin is the highest among them, and was the

disciple of Christ. And dost thou know what they are doing? They are

praying for me, and calling down something which they call grace; but

nothing descends on me, save disquiet, and a greater yearning for Lygia.

 

“I have written thee that she went away secretly; but when going she

left me a cross which she put together from twigs of boxwood. When I

woke up, I found it near my bed. I have it now in the lararium, and I

approach it yet, I cannot tell why, as if there were something divine in

it,—that is, with awe and reverence. I love it because her hand bound

it, and I hate it because it divides us. At times it seems to me that

there are enchantments of some kind in all this affair, and that the

theurgus, Peter, though he declares himself to be a simple shepherd, is

greater than Apollonius, and all who preceded him, and that he has

involved us all—Lygia, Pomponia, and me—with them.

 

“Thou hast written that in my previous letter disquiet and sadness are

visible. Sadness there must be, for I have lost her again, and there is

disquiet because something has changed in me. I tell thee sincerely,

that nothing is more repugnant to my nature than that religion, and

still I cannot recognize myself since I met Lygia. Is it enchantment,

or love? Circe changed people’s bodies by touching them, but my soul

has been changed. No one but Lygia could have done that, or rather

Lygia through that wonderful religion which she professes. When I

returned to my house from the Christians, no one was waiting for me.

The slaves thought that I was in Beneventum, and would not return soon;

hence there was disorder in the house. I found the slaves drunk, and a

feast, which they were giving themselves, in my triclinium. They had

more thought of seeing death than me, and would have been less terrified

by it. Thou knowest with what a firm hand I hold my house; all to the

last one dropped on their knees, and some fainted from terror. But dost

thou know how I acted? At the first moment I wished to call for rods

and hot iron, but