_ 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 endurmg 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 stifi 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 Quiites 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 1 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 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 C~csar, 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 l~eyond 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
Graecina 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 f or 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 hart preferred to love him who
wished to make thee his concubine. God saved thee by a miracle of
His own hands, but thou hart 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 gil. 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 hart 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 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. _