Chapter XXVI

NEXT morning he woke up weak, but with a cool head and free of fever. It

seemed to him that a whispered conversation had roused him; but when

he opened his eyes, Lygia was not there. Ursus, stooping before the

chimney, was raking apart the gray ashes, and seeking live coals beneath

them. When he found some, he began to blow, not with his mouth, but as

it were with the bellows of a blacksmith. Vinicius, remembering how that

man had crushed Croton the day before, examined with attention befitting

a lover of the arena his gigantic back, which resembled the back of a

Cyclops, and his limbs strong as columns.

“Thanks to Mercury that my neck was not broken by him,” thought

Vinicius. “By Pollux! if the other Lygians are like this one, the

Danubian legions will have heavy work some time!”

But aloud he said, “Hei, slave!”

Ursus drew his head out of the chimney, and, smiling in a manner almost

friendly, said,--“God give thee a good day, lord, and good health; but I

am a free man, not a slave.”

On Vinicius who wished to question Ursus touching Lygia’s birthplace,

these words produced a certain pleasant impression; for discourse with

a free though a common man was less disagreeable to his Roman and

patrician pride, than with a slave, in whom neither law nor custom

recognized human nature.

“Then thou dost not belong to Aulus?” asked he.

“No, lord, I serve Callina, as I served her mother, of my own will.”

Here he hid his head again in the chimney, to blow the coals, on which

he had placed some wood. When he had finished, he took it out and

said,--“With us there are no slaves.”

“Where is Lygia?” inquired Vinicius.

“She has gone out, and I am to cook food for thee. She watched over thee

the whole night.”

“Why didst thou not relieve her?”

“Because she wished to watch, and it is for me to obey.” Here his eyes

grew gloomy, and after a while he added:

“If I had disobeyed her, thou wouldst not be living.”

“Art thou sorry for not having killed me?”

“No, lord. Christ has not commanded us to kill.”

“But Atacinus and Croton?”

“I could not do otherwise,” muttered Ursus. And he looked with regret

on his hands, which had remained pagan evidently, though his soul

had accepted the cross. Then he put a pot on the crane, and fixed his

thoughtful eyes on the fire.

“That was thy fault, lord,” said he at last. “Why didst thou raise thy

hand against her, a king’s daughter?”

Pride boiled up, at the first moment, in Vinicius, because a common man

and a barbarian had not merely dared to speak to him thus familiarly,

but to blame him in addition. To those uncommon and improbable things

which had met him since yesterday, was added another. But being weak and

without his slaves, he restrained himself, especially since a wish to

learn some details of Lygia’s life gained the upper hand in him.

When he had calmed himself, therefore, he inquired about the war of the

Lygians against Vannius and the Suevi. Ursus was glad to converse, but

could not add much that was new to what in his time Aulus Plautius had

told. Ursus had not been in battle, for he had attended the hostages to

the camp of Atelius Hister. He knew only that the Lygians had beaten the

Suevi and the Yazygi, but that their leader and king had fallen from

the arrows of the Yazygi. Immediately after they received news that the

Semnones had set fire to forests on their boundaries, they returned in

haste to avenge the wrong, and the hostages remained with Atelius, who

ordered at first to give them kingly honors. Afterward Lygia’s mother

died. The Roman commander knew not what to do with the child. Ursus

wished to return with her to their own country, but the road was unsafe

because of wild beasts and wild tribes. When news came that an

embassy of Lygians had visited Pomponius, offering him aid against the

Marcomani, Hister sent him with Lygia to Pomponius. When they came to

him they learned, however, that no ambassadors had been there, and in

that way they remained in the camp; whence Pomponius took them to Rome,

and at the conclusion of his triumph he gave the king’s daughter to

Pomponia Græcina.

Though only certain small details of this narrative had been unknown to

Vinicius, he listened with pleasure, for his enormous pride of family

was pleased that an eye-witness had confirmed Lygia’s royal descent. As

a king’s daughter she might occupy a position at Cæsar’s court equal to

the daughters of the very first families, all the more since the nation

whose ruler her father had been, had not warred with Rome so far, and,

though barbarian, it might become terrible; for, according to Atelius

Hister himself, it possessed an immense force of warriors. Ursus,

moreover, confirmed this completely.

“We live in the woods,” said he, in answer to Vinicius, “but we have so

much land that no man knows where the end is, and there are many people

on it. There are also wooden towns in the forest, in which there is

great plenty; for what the Semnones, the Marcomani, the Vandals, and the

Quadi plunder through the world, we take from them. They dare not come

to us; but when the wind blows from their side, they burn our forests.

We fear neither them nor the Roman Cæsar.”

“The gods gave Rome dominion over the earth,” said Vinicius severely.

“The gods are evil spirits,” replied Ursus, with simplicity, “and where

there are no Romans, there is no supremacy.”

Here he fixed the fire, and said, as if to himself,--“When Cæsar took

Callina to the palace, and I thought that harm might meet her, I wanted

to go to the forest and bring Lygians to help the king’s daughter. And

Lygians would have moved toward the Danube, for they are virtuous people

though pagan. There I should have given them ‘good tidings.’ But as it

is, if ever Callina returns to Pomponia Græcina I will bow down to her

for permission to go to them; for Christus was born far away, and they

have not even heard of Him. He knew better than I where He should be

born; but if He had come to the world with us, in the forests, we would

not have tortured Him to death, that is certain. We would have taken

care of the Child, and guarded Him, so that never should He want for

game, mushrooms, beaver-skins, or amber. And what we plundered from the

Suevi and the Marcomani we would have given Him, so that He might have

comfort and plenty.”

Thus speaking, he put near the fire the vessel with food for Vinicius,

and was silent. His thoughts wandered evidently, for a time yet, through

the Lygian wildernesses, till the liquid began to boil; then he poured

it into a shallow plate, and, cooling it properly, said,--“Glaucus

advises thee, lord, to move even thy sound arm as little as possible;

Callina has commanded me to give thee food.”

Lygia commanded! There was no answer to that. It did not even come to

Vinicius’s head to oppose her will, just as if she had been the daughter

of Cæsar or a goddess. He uttered not a word, therefore; and Ursus,

sitting near his bed, took out the liquid with a small cup, and put it

to his mouth. He did this so carefully, and with such a kindly smile,

that Vinicius could not believe his own eyes, could not think him the

same terrible Titan who the day before had crushed Croton, and, rushing

on him like a storm, would have torn him to pieces but for Lygia’s pity.

The young patrician, for the first time in life, began to ponder over

this: What can take place in the breast of a simple man, a barbarian,

and a servant?

But Ursus proved to be a nurse as awkward as painstaking; the cup was

lost among his herculean fingers so completely that there was no place

left for the mouth of the sick man. After a few fruitless efforts the

giant was troubled greatly, and said,--“Li! it would be easier to lead

an aurochs out of a snare.”

The anxiety of the Lygian amused Vinicius, but his remark did not

interest him less. He had seen in circuses the terrible urus, brought

from wildernesses of the north, against which the most daring bestiarii

went with dread, and which yielded only to elephants in size and

strength.

“Hast thou tried to take such beasts by the horns?” inquired he, with

astonishment.

“Till the twentieth winter passed over me, I was afraid,” answered

Ursus; “but after that it happened.”

And he began to feed Vinicius still more awkwardly than before.

“I must ask Miriam or Nazarius,” said he.

But now Lygia’s pale face appeared from behind the curtain.

“I will assist directly,” said she. And after a while she came from the

cubiculum, in which she had been preparing to sleep, as it seemed,

for she was in a single close tunic, called by the ancients capitium,

covering the breast completely, and her hair was unbound. Vinicius,

whose heart beat with more quickness at sight of her, began to upbraid

her for not thinking of sleep yet; but she answered joyously,--“I was

just preparing to sleep, but first I will take the place of Ursus.”

She took the cup, and, sitting on the edge of the bed, began to give

food to Vinicius, who felt at once overcome and delighted. When she

inclined toward him, the warmth of her body struck him, and her unbound

hair fell on his breast. He grew pale from the impression; but in the

confusion and impulse of desires he felt also that that was a head dear

above all and magnified above all, in comparison with which the whole

world was nothing. At first he had desired her; now he began to love her

with a full breast. Before that, as generally in life and in feeling, he

had been, like all people of that time, a blind, unconditional egotist,

who thought only of himself; at present he began to think of her.

After a while, therefore, he refused further nourishment; and though he

found inexhaustible delight in her presence and in looking at her, he

said,--“Enough! Go to rest, my divine one.”

“Do not address me in that way,” answered Lygia; “it is not proper for

me to hear such words.”

She smiled at him, however, and said that sleep had fled from her, that

she felt no toil, that she would not go to rest till Glaucus came.

He listened to her words as to music; his heart rose with increasing

delight, increasing gratitude, and his thought was struggling to show

her that gratitude.

“Lygia,” said he, after a moment of silence, “I did not know thee

hitherto. But I know now that I wished to attain thee by a false way;

hence I say, return to Pomponia Græcina, and be assured that in future

no hand will be raised against thee.”

Her face became sad on a sudden. “I should be happy,” answered she,

“could I look at her, even from a distance; but I cannot return to her

now.”

“Why?” inquired Vinicius, with astonishment.

“We Christians know, through Acte, what is done on the Palatine. Hast

thou not heard that Cæsar, soon after my flight and before his departure

for Naples, summoned Aulus and Pomponia, and, thinking that they had

helped me, threatened them with his anger? Fortunately Aulus was able to

say to him, ‘Thou knowest, lord, that a lie has never passed my lips;

I swear to thee now that we did not help her to escape, and we do not

know, as thou dost not, what has happened to her.’ Cæsar believed, and

afterward forgot. By the advice of the elders I have never written to

mother where I am, so that she might take an oath boldly at all times

that she has no knowledge of me. Thou wilt not understand this, perhaps,

O Vinicius; but it is not permitted us to lie, even in a question

involving life. Such is the religion on which we fashion our hearts;

therefore I have not seen Pomponia from the hour when I left her house.

From time to time distant echoes barely reach her that I am alive and

not in danger.”

Here a longing seized Lygia, and her eyes were moist with tears; but she

calmed herself quickly, and said,--“I know that Pomponia, too, yearns

for me; but we have consolation which others have not.”

“Yes,” answered Vinicius, “Christ is your consolation, but I do not

understand that.”

“Look at us! For us there are no partings, no pains, no sufferings; or

if they come they are turned into pleasure. And death itself, which for

you is the end of life, is for us merely its beginning,--the exchange of

a lower for a higher happiness, a happiness less calm for one calmer and

eternal. Consider what must a religion be which enjoins on us love even

for our enemies, forbids falsehood, purifies our souls from hatred, and

promises happiness inexhaustible after death.”

“I heard those teachings in Ostrianum, and I have seen how ye acted with

me and with Chilo; when I remember your deeds, they are like a dream,

and it seems to me that I ought not to believe my ears or eyes. But

answer me this question: Art thou happy?”

“I am,” answered Lygia. “One who confesses Christ cannot be unhappy.”

Vinicius looked at her, as though what she said passed every measure of

human understanding.

“And hast thou no wish to return to Pomponia?”

“I should like, from my whole soul, to return to her; and shall return,

if such be God’s will.”

“I say to thee, therefore, return; and I swear by my lares that I will

not raise a hand against thee.”

Lygia thought for a moment, and answered,--“No, I cannot expose

those near me to danger. Cæsar does not like the Plautiuses. Should

I return--thou knowest how every news is spread throughout Rome by

slaves--my return would be noised about in the city. Nero would hear of

it surely through his slaves, and punish Aulus and Pomponia,--at least

take me from them a second time.”

“True,” answered Vinicius, frowning, “that would be possible. He would

do so, even to show that his will must be obeyed. It is true that he

only forgot thee, or would remember thee, because the loss was not his,

but mine. Perhaps, if he took thee from Aulus and Pomponia, he would

send thee to me and I could give thee back to them.”

“Vinicius, wouldst thou see me again on the Palatine?” inquired Lygia.

He set his teeth, and answered,--“No. Thou art right. I spoke like a

fool! No!”

And all at once he saw before him a precipice, as it were without

bottom. He was a patrician, a military tribune, a powerful man; but

above every power of that world to which he belonged was a madman whose

will and malignity it was impossible to foresee. Only such people as the

Christians might cease to reckon with Nero or fear him,--people for whom

this whole world, with its separations and sufferings, was as nothing;

people for whom death itself was as nothing. All others had to

tremble before him. The terrors of the time in which they lived showed

themselves to Vinicius in all their monstrous extent. He could not

return Lygia to Aulus and Pomponia, then, through fear that the monster

would remember her, and turn on her his anger; for the very same reason,

if he should take her as wife, he might expose her, himself, and Aulus.

A moment of ill-humor was enough to ruin all. Vinicius felt, for

the first time in life, that either the world must change and be

transformed, or life would become impossible altogether. He understood

also this, which a moment before had been dark to him, that in such

times only Christians could be happy.

But above all, sorrow seized him, for he understood, too, that it was

he who had so involved his own life and Lygia’s that out of the

complication there was scarcely an outcome. And under the influence of

that sorrow he began to speak:

“Dost thou know that thou art happier than I? Thou art in poverty, and

in this one chamber, among simple people, thou hast thy religion and thy

Christ; but I have only thee, and when I lacked thee I was like a beggar

without a roof above him and without bread. Thou art dearer to me than

the whole world. I sought thee, for I could not live without thee. I

wished neither feasts nor sleep. Had it not been for the hope of finding

thee, I should have cast myself on a sword. But I fear death, for if

dead I could not see thee. I speak the pure truth in saying that I shall

not be able to live without thee. I have lived so far only in the hope

of finding and beholding thee. Dost thou remember our conversations at

the house of Aulus? Once thou didst draw a fish for me on the sand, and

I knew not what its meaning was. Dost thou remember how we played ball?

I loved thee then above life, and thou hadst begun already to divine

that I loved thee. Aulus came, frightened us with Libitina, and

interrupted our talk. Pomponia, at parting, told Petronius that God is

one, all-mighty and all-merciful, but it did not even occur to us that

Christ was thy God and hers. Let Him give thee to me and I will love

Him, though He seems to me a god of slaves, foreigners, and beggars.

Thou sittest near me, and thinkest of Him only. Think of me too, or I

shall hate Him. For me thou alone art a divinity. Blessed be thy father

and mother; blessed the land which produced thee! I should wish to

embrace thy feet and pray to thee, give thee honor, homage, offerings,

thou thrice divine! Thou knowest not, or canst not know, how I love

thee.”

Thus speaking, he placed his hand on his pale forehead and closed his

eyes. His nature never knew bounds in love or anger. He spoke with

enthusiasm, like a man who, having lost self-control, has no wish to

observe any measure in words or feelings. But he spoke from the depth

of his soul, and sincerely. It was to be felt that the pain, ecstasy,

desire, and homage accumulated in his breast had burst forth at last

in an irresistible torrent of words. To Lygia his words appeared

blasphemous, but still her heart began to beat as if it would tear the

tunic enclosing her bosom. She could not resist pity for him and his

suffering. She was moved by the homage with which he spoke to her. She

felt beloved and deified without bounds; she felt that that unbending

and dangerous man belonged to her now, soul and body, like a slave;

and that feeling of his submission and her own power filled her with

happiness. Her recollections revived in one moment. He was for her again

that splendid Vinicius, beautiful as a pagan god; he, who in the house

of Aulus had spoken to her of love, and roused as if from sleep her

heart half childlike at that time; he from whose embraces Ursus had

wrested her on the Palatine, as he might have wrested her from flames.

But at present, with ecstasy, and at the same time with pain in his

eagle face, with pale forehead and imploring eyes,--wounded, broken by

love, loving, full of homage and submissive,--he seemed to her such as

she would have wished him, and such as she would have loved with her

whole soul, therefore dearer than he had ever been before.

All at once she understood that a moment might come in which his love

would seize her and bear her away, as a whirlwind; and when she felt

this, she had the same impression that he had a moment before,--that she

was standing on the edge of a precipice. Was it for this that she had

left the house of Aulus? Was it for this that she had saved herself by

flight? Was it for this that she had hidden so long in wretched parts of

the city? Who was that Vinicius? An Augustian, a soldier, a courtier of

Nero! Moreover he took part in his profligacy and madness, as was shown

by that feast, which she could not forget; and he went with others

to the temples, and made offerings to vile gods, in whom he did not

believe, perhaps, but still he gave them official honor. Still more he

had pursued her to make her his slave and mistress, and at the same time

to thrust her into that terrible world of excess, luxury, crime, and

dishonor which calls for the anger and vengeance of God. He seemed

changed, it is true, but still he had just said to her that if she would

think more of Christ than of him, he was ready to hate Christ. It seemed

to Lygia that the very idea of any other love than the love of Christ

was a sin against Him and against religion. When she saw then that other

feelings and desires might be roused in the depth of her soul, she was

seized by alarm for her own future and her own heart.

At this moment of internal struggle appeared Glaucus, who had come to

care for the patient and study his health. In the twinkle of an eye,

anger and impatience were reflected on the face of Vinicius. He was

angry that his conversation with Lygia had been interrupted; and when

Glaucus questioned him, he answered with contempt almost. It is true

that he moderated himself quickly; but if Lygia had any illusions as

to this,--that what he had heard in Ostrianum might have acted on his

unyielding nature,--those illusions must vanish. He had changed only

for her; but beyond that single feeling there remained in his breast the

former harsh and selfish heart, truly Roman and wolfish, incapable not

only of the sweet sentiment of Christian teaching but even of gratitude.

She went away at last filled with internal care and anxiety. Formerly in

her prayers she had offered to Christ a heart calm, and really pure as

a tear. Now that calmness was disturbed. To the interior of the flower a

poisonous insect had come and began to buzz. Even sleep, in spite of the

two nights passed without sleep, brought her no relief. She dreamed

that at Ostrianum Nero, at the head of a whole band of Augustians,

bacchantes, corybantes, and gladiators, was trampling crowds of

Christians with his chariot wreathed in roses; and Vinicius seized her

by the arm, drew her to the quadriga, and, pressing her to his bosom,

whispered “Come with us.”