Chapter XXVII

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 enduring 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 still 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 Quirites 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
[A man who labors with chained feet] 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 Cęsar, 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 beyond 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 Gręcina 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 for 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 hast preferred to love him who wished to make thee
his concubine. God saved thee by a miracle of His own hands, but thou
hast 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 girl. 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 hast 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.