Quo Vadis - Henryk Sienkiewicz (best ereader under 100 .txt) 📗

and

has preserved thee in life so that thou shouldst come to thy mind. He,

before whom man is but dust, delivered thee defenceless into our hands;

but Christ, in whom we believe, commanded us to love even our enemies.

Therefore we have dressed thy wounds, and, as Lygia has said, we will

implore God to restore thy health, but we cannot watch over thee longer.

Be in peace, then, and think whether it beseems thee to continue thy

pursuit of Lygia. Thou hast deprived her of guardians, and us of a

roof, though we return thee good for evil.”

 

“Do ye wish to leave me? inquired Vinicius.

 

“We wish to leave this house, in which prosecution by the prefect of the

city may reach us. Thy companion was killed; thou, who art powerful

among thy own people, art wounded. This did not happen through our

fault, but the anger of the law might fall on us.”

 

“Have no fear of prosecution,” replied Vinicius; “I will protect you.”

 

Crispus did not like to tell him that with them it was not only a

question of the prefect and the police, but of him; they wished to

secure Lygia from his further pursuit.

 

“Lord,” said he, “thy right arm is well. Here are tablets and a stilus;

write to thy servants to bring a litter this evening and bear thee to

thy own house, where thou wilt have more comfort than in our poverty.

We dwell here with a poor widow, who will return soon with her son, and

this youth will take thy letter; as to us, we must all find another

hiding-place.”

 

Vinicius grew pale, for he understood that they wished to separate him

from Lygia, and that if he lost her now he might never see her in life

again. He knew indeed that things of great import had come between him

and her, in virtue of which, if he wished to possess her, he must seek

some new methods which he had not had time yet to think over. He

understood too that whatever he might tell these people, though he

should swear that he would return Lygia to Pomponia Græcina, they would

not believe him, and were justified in refusing belief. Moreover, he

might have done that before. Instead of hunting for Lygia, he might

have gone to Pomponia and sworn to her that he renounced pursuit, and in

that case Pomponia herself would have found Lygia and brought her home.

No; he felt that such promises would not restrain them, and no solemn

oath would be received, the more since, not being a Christian, he could

swear only by the immortal gods, in whom he did not himself believe

greatly, and whom they considered evil spirits.

 

He desired desperately to influence Lygia and her guardians in some way,

but for that there was need of time. For him it was all-important to

see her, to look at her for a few days even. As every fragment of a

plank or an oar seems salvation to a drowning man, so to him it seemed

that during those few days he might say something to bring him nearer to

her, that he might think out something, that something favorable might

happen. Hence he collected his thoughts and said,—

 

“Listen to me, Christians. Yesterday I was with you in Ostrianum, and I

heard your teaching; but though I did not know it, your deeds have

convinced me that you are honest and good people. Tell that widow who

occupies this house to stay in it, stay in it yourselves, and let me

stay. Let this man [here he turned to Glaucus], who is a physician, or

at least understands the care of wounds, tell whether it is possible to

carry me from here to-day. I am sick, I have a broken arm, which must

remain immovable for a few days even; therefore I declare to you that I

will not leave this house unless you bear me hence by force!”

 

Here he stopped, for breath failed in his breast, and Crispus said,—“We

will use no force against thee, lord; we will only take away our own

heads.”

 

At this the young man, unused to resistance, frowned and said,—“Permit

me to recover breath”; and after a time he began again to speak,—“Of

Croton, whom Ursus killed, no one will inquire. He had to go to-day to

Beneventum, whither he was summoned by Vatinius, therefore all will

think that he has gone there. When I entered this house in company with

Croton, no one saw us except a Greek who was with us in Ostrianum. I

will indicate to you his lodgings; bring that man to me. On him I will

enjoin silence; he is paid by me. I will send a letter to my own house

stating that I too went to Beneventum. If the Greek has informed the

prefect already, I will declare that I myself killed Croton, and that it

was he who broke my arm. I will do this, by my father’s shade and by my

mother’s! Ye may remain in safety here; not a hair will fall from the

head of one of you. Bring hither, and bring in haste, the Greek whose

name is Chilo Chilonides!”

 

“Then Glaucus will remain with thee,” said Crispus, “and the widow will

nurse thee.”

 

“Consider, old man, what I say,” said Vinicius, who frowned still more.

“I owe thee gratitude, and thou seemest good and honest; but thou dost

not tell me what thou hast in the bottom of thy soul. Thou art afraid

lest I summon my slaves and command them to take Lygia. Is this true?”

 

“It is,” said Crispus, with sternness.

 

“Then remember this, I shall speak before all to Chilo, and write a

letter home that I have gone to Beneventum. I shall have no messengers

hereafter but you. Remember this, and do not irritate me longer.”

 

Here he was indignant, and his face was contorted with anger. Afterward

he began to speak excitedly,—

 

“Hast thou thought that I would deny that I wish to stay here to see

her? A fool would have divined that, even had I denied it. But I will

not try to take her by force any longer. I will tell thee more: if she

will not stay here, I will tear the bandages with this sound hand from

my arm, will take neither food nor drink; let my death fall on thee and

thy brethren. Why hast thou nursed me? Why hast thou not commanded to

kill me?” He grew pale from weakness and anger.

 

Lygia, who had heard all from the other room and who was certain that

Vinicius would do what he promised, was terrified. She would not have

him die for anything. Wounded and defenceless, he roused in her

compassion, not fear. Living from the time of her flight among people

in continual religious enthusiasm, thinking only of sacrifices,

offerings, and boundless charity, she had grown so excited herself

through that new inspiration, that for her it took the place of house,

family, lost happiness, and made her one of those Christian maidens who,

later on, changed the former soul of the world. Vinicius had been too

important in her fate, had been thrust too much on her, to let her

forget him. She had thought of him whole days, and more than once had

begged God for the moment in which, following the inspiration of

religion, she might return good for his evil, mercy for his persecution,

break him, win him to Christ, save him. And now it seemed to her that

precisely that moment had come, and that her prayers had been heard.

 

She approached Crispus therefore with a face as if inspired, and

addressed him as though some other voice spoke through her,—“Let him

stay among us, Crispus, and we will stay with him till Christ gives him

health.”

 

The old presbyter, accustomed to seek in all things the inspiration of

God, beholding her exaltation, thought at once that perhaps a higher

power was speaking through her, and, fearing in his heart, he bent his

gray head, saying,—“Let it be as thou sayest.”

 

On Vinicius, who the whole time had not taken his eyes from her, this

ready obedience of Crispus produced a wonderful and pervading

impression. It seemed to him that among the Christians Lygia was a kind

of sibyl or priestess whom they surrounded with obedience and honor; and

he yielded himself also to that honor. To the love which he felt was

joined now a certain awe, in presence of which love itself became

something almost insolent. He could not familiarize himself, however,

with the thought that their relations had changed: that now not she was

dependent on his will, but he on hers; that he was lying there sick and

broken; that he had ceased to be an attacking, a conquering force; that

he was like a defenceless child in her care. For his proud and

commanding nature such relations with any other person would have been

humiliating; now, however, not only did he not feel humiliated, but he

was thankful to her as to his sovereign. In him those were feelings

unheard-of, feelings which he could not have entertained the day before,

and which would have amazed him even on that day had he been able to

analyze them clearly. But he did not inquire at the moment why it was

so, just as if the position had been perfectly natural; he merely felt

happy because he remained there.

 

And he wished to thank her with gratefulness, and still with a kind of

feeling unknown to him in such a degree that he knew not what to call

it, for it was simply submission. His previous excitement had so

exhausted him that he could not speak, and he thanked her only with his

eyes, which were gleaming from delight because he remained near her, and

would be able to see her—tomorrow, next day, perhaps a long time.

That delight was diminished only by the dread that he might lose what he

had gained. So great was this dread that when Lygia gave him water a

second time, and the wish seized him to take her hand, he feared to do

so. He feared!—he, that Vinicius who at Cæsar’s feast had kissed her

lips in spite of her! he, that Vinicius who after her flight had

promised himself to drag her by the hair to the cubiculum, or give

command to flog her!