Chapter XXVIII

PETRONIUS to VINICIUS:--"Have pity, carissime; imitate not in thy
letters the Lacedemonians or Julius Cæsar! Couldst thou, like Julius,
write Veni, vidi, vici (I came, I saw, I conquered), I might understand
thy brevity. But thy letter means absolutely Veni, vidi, fugi (I came,
I saw, I fled). Since such a conclusion of the affair is directly
opposed to thy nature, since thou art wounded, and since, finally,
uncommon things are happening to thee, thy letter needs explanation. I
could not believe my eyes when I read that the Lygian giant killed
Croton as easily as a Caledonian dog would kill a wolf in the defiles of
Hibernia. That man is worth as much gold as he himself weighs, and it
depends on him alone to become a favorite of Cæsar. When I return to
the city, I must gain a nearer acquaintance with that Lygian, and have a
bronze statue of him made for myself. Ahenobarbus will burst from
curiosity, when I tell him that it is from nature. Bodies really
athletic are becoming rarer in Italy and in Greece; of the Orient no
mention need be made; the Germans, though large, have muscles covered
with fat, and are greater in bulk than in strength. Learn from the
Lygian if he is an exception, or if in his country there are more men
like him. Should it happen sometime to thee or me to organize games
officially, it would be well to know where to seek for the best bodies.

"But praise to the gods of the Orient and the Occident that thou hast
come out of such hands alive. Thou hast escaped, of course, because
thou art a patrician, and the son of a consul; but everything which has
happened astonishes me in the highest degree,--that cemetery where thou
wert among the Christians, they, their treatment of thee, the subsequent
flight of Lygia; finally, that peculiar sadness and disquiet which
breathes from thy short letter. Explain, for there are many points
which I cannot understand; and if thou wish the truth, I will tell thee
plainly, that I understand neither the Christians nor thee nor Lygia.
Wonder not that I, who care for few things on earth except my own
person, inquire of thee so eagerly. I have contributed to all this
affair of thine; hence it is my affair so far. Write soon, for I cannot
foresee surely when we may meet. In Bronzebeard's head plans change, as
winds do in autumn. At present, while tarrying in Beneventum, he has
the wish to go straightway to Greece, without returning to Rome.
Tigellinus, however, advises him to visit the city even for a time,
since the people, yearning overmuch for his person (read 'for games and
bread') may revolt. So I cannot tell how it will be. Should Achæa
overbalance, we may want to see Egypt. I should insist with all my
might on thy coming, for I think that in thy state of mind travelling
and our amusements would be a medicine, but thou mightst not find us.
Consider, then, whether in that case repose in thy Sicilian estates
would not be preferable to remaining in Rome. Write me minutely of
thyself, and farewell. I add no wish this time, except health; for, by
Pollux! I know not what to wish thee."

Vinicius, on receiving this letter, felt at first no desire to reply.
He had a kind of feeling that it was not worth while to reply, that an
answer would benefit no one in any way, that it would explain nothing.
Discontent, and a feeling of the vanity of life, possessed him. He
thought, moreover, that Petronius would not comprehend him in any case,
and that something had happened which would remove them from each other.
He could not come to an agreement with himself, even. When he returned
from the Trans-Tiber to his splendid "insula," he was exhausted, and
found for the first days a certain satisfaction in rest and in the
comfort and abundance about 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 immediately a kind of shame seized me, and, wilt thou
lend belief? a species of pity for those wretched people. Among them
are old slaves whom my grandfather, Marcus Vinicius, brought from the
Rhine in the time of Augustus. I shut myself up alone in the library,
and there came stranger thoughts still to my head; namely, that after
what I had heard and seen among the Christians, it did not become me to
act with slaves as I had acted hitherto--that they too were people. For
a number of days they moved about in mortal terror, in the belief that I
was delaying so as to invent punishment the more cruel, but I did not
punish, and did not punish because I was not able. Summoning them on
the third day, I said, 'I forgive you; strive then with earnest service
to correct your fault!' They fell on their knees, covering their faces
with tears, stretching forth their hands with groans, and called me lord
and father; but I--with shame do I write this--was equally moved. It
seemed to me that at that moment I was looking at the sweet face of
Lygia, and her eyes filled with tears, thanking me for that act. And,
proh pudor! I felt that my lips too were moist. Dost know what I will
confess to thee? This--that I cannot do without her, that it is ill for
me alone, that I am simply unhappy, and that my sadness is greater than
thou wilt admit. But, as to my slaves, one thing arrested my attention.
The forgiveness which they received not only did not make them insolent,
not only did not weaken discipline, but never had fear roused them to
such ready service as has gratitude. Not only do they serve, but they
seem to vie with one another to divine my wishes. I mention this to
thee because, when, the day before I left the Christians, I told Paul
that society would fall apart because of his religion, as a cask without
hoops, he answered, 'Love is a stronger hoop than fear.' And now I see
that in certain cases his opinion may be right. I have verified it also
with references to clients, who, learning of my return, hurried to
salute me. Thou knowest that I have never been penurious with them; but
my father acted haughtily with clients on principle, and taught me to
treat them in like manner. But when I saw their worn mantles and hungry
faces, I had a feeling something like compassion. I gave command to
bring them food, and conversed besides with them,--called some by name,
some I asked about their wives and children,--and again in the eyes
before me I saw tears; again it seemed to me that Lygia saw what I was
doing, that she praised and was delighted. Is my mind beginning to
wander, or is love confusing my feelings? I cannot tell. But this I do
know; I have a continual feeling that she is looking at me from a
distance, and I am afraid to do aught that might trouble or offend her.

"So it is, Caius! but they have changed my soul, and sometimes I feel
well for that reason. At times again I am tormented with the thought,
for I fear that my manhood and energy are taken from me; that, perhaps,
I am useless, not only for counsel, for judgment, for feasts, but for
war even. These are undoubted enchantments! And to such a degree am I
changed that I tell thee this, too, which came to my head when I lay
wounded: that if Lygia were like Nigidia, Poppæa, Crispinilla, and our
divorced women, if she were as vile, as pitiless, and as cheap as they,
I should not love her as I do at present. But since I love her for that
which divides us, thou wilt divine what a chaos is rising in my soul, in
what darkness I live, how it is that I cannot see certain roads before
me, and how far I am from knowing what to begin. If life may be
compared to a spring, in my spring disquiet flows instead of water. I
live through the hope that I shall see her, perhaps, and sometimes it
seems to me that I shall see her surely. But what will happen to me in
a year or two years, I know not, and cannot divine. I shall not leave
Rome. I could not endure the society of the Augustians; and besides,
the one solace in my sadness and disquiet is the thought that I am near
Lygia, that through Glaucus the physician, who promised to visit me, or
through Paul of Tarsus, I can learn something of her at times. No; I
would not leave Rome, even were ye to offer me the government of Egypt.
Know also, that I have ordered the sculptor to make a stone monument for
Gulo, whom I slew in anger. Too late did it come to my mind that he had
carried me in his arms, and was the first to teach me how to put an
arrow on a bow. I know not why it was that a recollection of him rose
in me which was sorrow and reproach. If what I write astonish thee, I
reply that it astonishes me no less, but I write pure truth.--Farewell."