home | authors | books | about

Home -> Henryk Sienkiewicz -> Quo Vadis -> Chapter IX

Quo Vadis - Chapter IX

1. Chapter 1

2. Chapter II

3. Chapter III

4. Chapter IV

5. Chapter V

6. Chapter VI

7. Chapter VII

8. Chapter VIII

9. Chapter IX

10. Chapter X

11. Chapter XI

12. Chapter XII

13. Chapter XIII

14. Chapter XIV

15. Chapter XV

16. Chapter XVI

17. Chapter XVII

18. Chapter XVIII

19. Chapter XIX

20. Chapter XX

21. Chapter XXI

22. Chapter XXII

23. Chapter XXIII

24. Chapter XXIV

25. Chapter XXV

26. Chapter XXVI

27. Chapter XXVII

28. Chapter XXVIII

29. Chapter XXIX

30. Chapter XXX

31. Chapter XXXI

32. Chapter XXXII

33. Chapter XXXIII

34. Chapter XXXIV

35. Chapter XXXV

36. Chapter XXXVI

37. Chapter XXXVII

38. Chapter XXXVIII

39. Chapter XXXIX

40. Chapter XL

41. Chapter XLI

42. Chapter XLII

43. Chapter XLIII

44. Chapter XLIV

45. Chapter XLV

46. Chapter XLVI

47. Chapter XLVII

48. Chapter XLVIII

49. Chapter XLIX

50. Chapter L

51. Chapter LI

52. Chapter LII

53. Chapter LIII

54. Chapter LIV

55. Chapter LV

56. Chapter LVI

57. Chapter LVII

58. Chapter LVIII

59. Chapter LIX

60. Chapter LX

61. Chapter LXI

62. Chapter LXII

63. Chapter LXIII

64. Chapter LXIV

65. Chapter LXV

66. Chapter LXVI

67. Chapter LXVII

68. Chapter LXVIII

69. Chapter LXIX

70. Chapter LXX

71. Chapter LXXI

72. Chapter LXXII

73. Chapter LXXIII

74. Epilogue







Chapter IX

LYGIA was grieved to lose Pomponia Græcina, whom she loved with her
whole soul, and she grieved for the household of Aulus; still her
despair passed away. She felt a certain delight even in the thought
that she was sacrificing plenty and comfort for her Truth, and was
entering on an unknown and wandering existence. Perhaps there was in
this a little also of childish curiosity as to what that life would be,
off somewhere in remote regions, among wild beasts and barbarians. But
there was still more a deep and trusting faith, that by acting thus she
was doing as the Divine Master had commanded, and that henceforth He
Himself would watch over her, as over an obedient and faithful child.
In such a case what harm could meet her? If sufferings come, she will
endure them in His name. If sudden death comes, He will take her; and
some time, when Pomponia dies, they will be together for all eternity.
More than once when she was in the house of Aulus, she tortured her
childish head because she, a Christian, could do nothing for that
Crucified, of whom Ursus spoke with such tenderness. But now the moment
had come. Lygia felt almost happy, and began to speak of her happiness
to Acte, who could not understand her, however. To leave everything,--
to leave house, wealth, the city, gardens, temples, porticos, everything
that is beautiful; leave a sunny land and people near to one--and for
what purpose? To hide from the love of a young and stately knight. In
Acte's head these things could not find place. At times she felt that
Lygia's action was right, that there must be some immense mysterious
happiness in it; but she could not give a clear account to herself of
the matter, especially since an adventure was before Lygia which might
have an evil ending,--an adventure in which she might lose her life
simply. Acte was timid by nature, and she thought with dread of what
the coming evening might bring. But she was loath to mention her fears
to Lygia; meanwhile, as the day was clear and the sun looked into the
atrium, she began to persuade her to take the rest needed after a night
without sleep. Lygia did not refuse; and both went to the cubiculum,
which was spacious and furnished with luxury because of Acte's former
relations with Cæsar. There they lay down side by side, but in spite of
her weariness Acte could not sleep. For a long time she had been sad
and unhappy, but now she was seized by a certain uneasiness which she
had never felt before. So far life had seemed to her simply grievous
and deprived of a morrow; now all at once it seemed to her dishonorable.

Increasing chaos rose in her head. Again the door to light began to
open and close. But in the moment when it opened, that light so dazzled
her that she could see nothing distinctly. She divined, merely, that in
that light there was happiness of some kind, happiness beyond measure,
in presence of which every other was nothing, to such a degree that if
Cæsar, for example, were to set aside Poppæa, and love her, Acte, again,
it would be vanity. Suddenly the thought came to her that that Cæsar
whom she loved, whom she held involuntarily as a kind of demigod, was as
pitiful as any slave, and that palace, with columns of Numidian marble,
no better than a heap of stones. At last, however, those feelings which
she had not power to define began to torment her; she wanted to sleep,
but being tortured by alarm she could not. Thinking that Lygia,
threatened by so many perils and uncertainties, was not sleeping either,
she turned to her to speak of her flight in the evening. But Lygia was
sleeping calmly. Into the dark cubiculum, past the curtain which was
not closely drawn, came a few bright rays, in which golden dust-motes
were playing. By the light of these rays Acte saw her delicate face,
resting on her bare arm, her closed eyes, and her mouth slightly open.
She was breathing regularly, but as people breathe while asleep.

"She sleeps,--she is able to sleep," thought Acte. "She is a child
yet." Still, after a while it came to her mind that that child chose to
flee rather than remain the beloved of Vinicius; she preferred want to
shame, wandering to a lordly house, to robes, jewels, and feasts, to the
sound of lutes and citharas.

"Why?"

And she gazed at Lygia, as if to find an answer in her sleeping face.
She looked at her clear forehead, at the calm arch of her brows, at her
dark tresses, at her parted lips, at her virgin bosom moved by calm
breathing; then she thought again,--"How different from me!"

Lygia seemed to her a miracle, a sort of divine vision, something
beloved of the gods, a hundred times more beautiful than all the flowers
in Cæsar's garden, than all the statues in his palace. But in the Greek
woman's heart there was no envy. On the contrary, at thought of the
dangers which threatened the girl, great pity seized her. A certain
motherly feeling rose in the woman. Lygia seemed to her not only as
beautiful as a beautiful vision, but also very dear, and, putting her
lips to her dark hair, she kissed it.

But Lygia slept on calmly, as if at home, under the care of Pomponia
Græcina. And she slept rather long. Midday had passed when she opened
her blue eyes and looked around the cubiculum in astonishment.
Evidently she wondered that she was not in the house of Aulus.

"That is thou, Acte?" said she at last, seeing in the darkness the face
of the Greek.

"I, Lygia."

"Is it evening?"

"No, child; but midday has passed."

"And has Ursus not returned?"

"Ursus did not say that he would return; he said that he would watch in
the evening, with Christians, for the litter."

"True."

Then they left the cubiculum and went to the bath, where Acte bathed
Lygia; then she took her to breakfast and afterward to the gardens of
the palace, in which no dangerous meeting might be feared, since Cæsar
and his principal courtiers were sleeping yet. For the first time in her
life Lygia saw those magnificent gardens, full of pines, cypresses,
oaks, olives, and myrtles, among which appeared white here and there a
whole population of statues. The mirror of ponds gleamed quietly;
groves of roses were blooming, watered with the spray of fountains;
entrances to charming grottos were encircled with a growth of ivy or
woodbine; silver-colored swans were sailing on the water; amidst statues
and trees wandered tame gazelles from the deserts of Africa, and rich-
colored birds from all known countries on earth.

The gardens were empty; but here and there slaves were working, spade in
hand, singing in an undertone; others, to whom was granted a moment of
rest, were sitting by ponds or in the shade of groves, in trembling
light produced by sun-rays breaking in between leaves; others were
watering roses or the pale lily-colored blossoms of the saffron. Acte
and Lygia walked rather long, looking at all the wonders of the gardens;
and though Lygia's mind was not at rest, she was too much a child yet to
resist pleasure, curiosity, and wonder. It occurred to her, even, that
if Cæsar were good, he might be very happy in such a palace, in such
gardens.

But at last, tired somewhat, the two women sat down on a bench hidden
almost entirely by dense cypresses and began to talk of that which
weighed on their hearts most,--that is, of Lygia's escape in the
evening. Acte was far less at rest than Lygia touching its success. At
times it seemed to her even a mad project, which could not succeed. She
felt a growing pity for Lygia. It seemed to her that it would be a
hundred times safer to try to act on Vinicius. After a while she
inquired of Lygia how long she had known him, and whether she did not
think that he would let himself be persuaded to return her to Pomponia.

But Lygia shook her dark head in sadness. "No. In Aulus's house,
Vinicius had been different, he had been very kind, but since
yesterday's feast she feared him, and would rather flee to the Lygians."

"But in Aulus's house," inquired Acte, "he was dear to thee, was he
not?"

"He was," answered Lygia, inclining her head.

"And thou wert not a slave, as I was," said Acte, after a moment's
thought. "Vinicius might marry thee. Thou art a hostage, and a
daughter of the Lygian king. Aulus and Pomponia love thee as their own
child; I am sure that they arc ready to adopt thee. Vinicius might marry
thee, Lygia."

But Lygia answered calmly, and with still greater sadness, "I would
rather flee to the Lygians."

"Lygia, dost thou wish me to go directly to Vinicius, rouse him, if he
is sleeping, and tell him what I have told thee? Yes, my precious one,
I will go to him and say, 'Vinicius, this is a king's daughter, and a
dear child of the famous Aulus; if thou love her, return her to Aulus
and Pomponia, and take her as wife from their house.'"

But the maiden answered with a voice so low that Acte could barely hear
it,--

"I would rather flee to the Lygians." And two tears were hanging on her
drooping lids.

Further conversation was stopped by the rustle of approaching steps, and
before Acte had time to see who was coming, Poppæa Sabina appeared in
front of the bench with a small retinue of slave women. Two of them
held over her head bunches of ostrich feathers fixed to golden wires;
with these they fanned her lightly, and at the same time protected her
from the autumn sun, which was hot yet. Before her a woman from Egypt,
black as ebony, and with bosom swollen as if from milk, bore in her arms
an infant wrapped in purple fringed with gold. Acte and Lygia rose,
thinking that Poppæa would pass the bench without turning attention to
either; but she halted before them and said,--"Acte, the bells sent by
thee for the doll were badly fastened; the child tore off one and put it
to her mouth; luckily Lilith saw it in season."

"Pardon, divinity," answered Acte, crossing her arms on her breast and
bending her head.

But Poppæa began to gaze at Lygia.

"What slave is this?" asked she, after a pause.

"She is not a slave, divine Augusta, but a foster child of Pomponia
Græcina, and a daughter of the Lygian king given by him as hostage to
Rome."

"And has she come to visit thee?"

"No, Augusta. She is dwelling in the palace since the day before
yesterday."

"Was she at the feast last night?"

"She was, Augusta."

"At whose command?"

"At Cæsar's command."

Poppæa looked still more attentively at Lygia, who stood with bowed
head, now raising her bright eyes to her with curiosity, now covering
them with their lids. Suddenly a frown appeared between the brows of
the Augusta. Jealous of her own beauty and power, she lived in
continual alarm lest at some time a fortunate rival might ruin her, as
she had ruined Octavia. Hence every beautiful face in the palace roused
her suspicion. With the eye of a critic she took in at once every part
of Lygia's form, estimated every detail of her face, and was frightened.
"That is simply a nymph," thought she, "and 'twas Venus who gave birth
to her." On a sudden this came to her mind which had never come before
at sight of any beauty,--that she herself had grown notably older!
Wounded vanity quivered in Poppæa, alarm seized her, and various fears
shot through her head. "Perhaps Nero has not seen the girl, or, seeing
her through the emerald, has not appreciated her. But what would happen
should he meet such a marvel in the daytime, in sunlight? Moreover she
is not a slave, she is the daughter of a king,--a king of barbarians,
it is true, but a king. Immortal gods! she is as beautiful as I am, but
younger!" The wrinkle between her brows increased, and her eyes began
to shine under their golden lashes with a cold gleam.

"Hast thou spoken with Cæsar?"

"No, Augusta."

"Why dost thou choose to be here rather than in the house of Aulus?"

"I do not choose, lady. Petronius persuaded Cæsar to take me from
Pomponia. I am here against my will."

"And wouldst thou return to Pomponia?"

This last question Poppæa gave with a softer and milder voice; hence a
sudden hope rose in Lygia's heart.

"Lady," said she, extending her hand to her, "Cæsar promised to give me
as a slave to Vinicius, but do thou intercede and return me to
Pomponia."

"Then Petronius persuaded Cæsar to take thee from Aulus, and give thee
to Vinicius?"

"True, lady. Vinicius is to send for me to-day, but thou art good, have
compassion on me." When she had said this, she inclined, and, seizing
the border of Poppæa's robe, waited for her word with beating heart.
Poppæa looked at her for a while, with a face lighted by an evil smile,
and said,--"Then I promise that thou wilt become the slave of Vinicius
this day." And she went on, beautiful as a vision, but evil. To the
ears of Lygia and Acte came only the wail of the infant, which began to
cry, it was unknown for what reason.

Lygia's eyes too were filled with tears; but after a while she took
Acte's hand and said,--"Let us return. Help is to be looked for only
whence it can come." And they returned to the atrium, which they did
not leave till evening.

When darkness had come and slaves brought in tapers with great flames,
both women were very pale. Their conversation failed every moment.
Both were listening to hear if some one were coming. Lygia repeated
again and again that, though grieved to leave Acte, she preferred that
all should take place that day, as Ursus must be waiting in the dark for
her then. But her breathing grew quicker from emotion, and louder.
Acte collected feverishly such jewels as she could, and, fastening them
in a corner of Lygia's peplus, implored her not to reject that gift and
means of escape. At moments came a deep silence full of deceptions for
the ear. It seemed to both that they heard at one time a whisper beyond
the curtain, at another the distant weeping of a child, at another the
barking of dogs.

Suddenly the curtain of the entrance moved without noise, and a tall,
dark man, his face marked with small-pox, appeared like a spirit in the
atrium. In one moment Lygia recognized Atacinus, a freedman of
Vinicius, who had visited the house of Aulus.

Acte screamed; but Atacinus bent low and said,--"A greeting, divine
Lygia, from Marcus Vinicius, who awaits thee with a feast in his house
which is decked in green."

The lips of the maiden grew pale.

"I go," said she.

Then she threw her arms around Acte's neck in farewell.




© Art Branch Inc. | English Dictionary