Quo Vadis by Henryk Sienkiewicz (ebook reader macos TXT) 📕

the last time toward the city. At a distance lower down was seen the

gleaming Tiber; beyond was the Campus Martius; higher up, the Mausoleum

of Augustus; below that, the gigantic baths just begun by Nero; still

lower, Pompey’s theatre; and beyond them were visible in places, and in

places hidden by other buildings, the Septa Julia, a multitude of

porticos, temples, columns, great edifices; and, finally, far in the

distance, hills covered with houses, a gigantic resort of people, the

borders of which vanished in the blue haze,—an abode of crime, but of

power; of madness, but of order,—which had become the head of the

world, its oppressor, but its law and its peace, almighty, invincible,

eternal.

But Peter, surrounded by soldiers, looked at the city as a ruler and

king looks at his inheritance. And he said to it, “Thou art redeemed

and mine!” And no one, not merely among the soldiers digging the hole

in which to plant the cross, but even among believers, could divine that

standing there among them was the true ruler of that moving life; that

Cæsars would pass away, waves of barbarians go by, and ages vanish, but

that old man would be lord there unbrokenly.

The sun had sunk still more toward Ostia, and had become large and red.

The whole western side of the sky had begun to glow with immense

brightness. The soldiers approached Peter to strip him.

But he, while praying, straightened himself all at once, and stretched

his right hand high. The executioners stopped, as if made timid by his

posture; the faithful held the breath in their breasts, thinking that he

wished to say something, and silence unbroken followed.

But he, standing on the height, with his extended right hand made the

sign of the cross, blessing in the hour of death,—

Urbi et orbi! (the city and the world).

In that same wonderful evening another detachment of soldiers conducted

along the Ostian Way Paul of Tarsus toward a place called Aquæ Salviæ.

And behind him also advanced a crowd of the faithful whom he had

converted; but when he recognized near acquaintances, he halted and

conversed with them, for, being a Roman citizen, the guard showed more

respect to him. Beyond the gate called Tergemina he met Plautilla, the

daughter of the prefect Flavius Sabinus, and, seeing her youthful face

covered with tears, he said: “Plautilla, daughter of Eternal Salvation,

depart in peace. Only give me a veil with which to bind my eyes when I

am going to the Lord.” And taking it, he advanced with a face as full

of delight as that of a laborer who when he has toiled the whole day

successfully is returning home. His thoughts, like those of Peter, were

as calm and quiet as that evening sky. His eyes gazed with

thoughtfulness upon the plain which stretched out before him, and to the

Alban Hills, immersed in light. He remembered his journeys, his toils,

his labor, the struggles in which he had conquered, the churches which

he had founded in all lands and beyond all seas; and he thought that he

had earned his rest honestly, that he had finished his work. He felt

now that the seed which he had planted would not be blown away by the

wind of malice. He was leaving this life with the certainty that in the

battle which his truth had declared against the world it would conquer;

and a mighty peace settled down on his soul.

The road to the place of execution was long, and evening was coming.

The mountains became purple, and the bases of them went gradually into

the shade. Flocks were returning home. Here and there groups of slaves

were walking with the tools of labor on their shoulders. Children,

playing on the road before houses, looked with curiosity at the passing

soldiers. But in that evening, in that transparent golden air, there

were not only peace and lovingness, but a certain harmony, which seemed

to lift from earth to heaven. Paul felt this; and his heart was filled

with delight at the thought that to that harmony of the world he had

added one note which had not been in it hitherto, but without which the

whole earth was like sounding brass or a tinkling cymbal.

He remembered how he had taught people love,—how he had told them that

though they were to give their property to the poor, though they knew

all languages, all secrets, and all sciences, they would be nothing

without love, which is kind, enduring, which does not return evil, which

does not desire honor, suffers all things, believes all things, hopes

all things, is patient of all things.

And so his life had passed in teaching people this truth. And now he

said in spirit: What power can equal it, what can conquer it? Could

Cæsar stop it, though he had twice as many legions and twice as many

cities, seas, lands, and nations?

And he went to his reward like a conqueror.

The detachment left the main road at last, and turned toward the east on

a narrow path leading to the Aquæ Salviæ. The red sun was lying now on

the heather. The centurion stopped the soldiers at the fountain, for

the moment had come.

Paul placed Plautilla’s veil on his arm, intending to bind his eyes with

it; for the last time he raised those eyes, full of unspeakable peace,

toward the eternal light of the evening, and prayed. Yes, the moment

had come; but he saw before him a great road in the light, leading to

heaven; and in his soul he repeated the same words which formerly he had

written in the feeling of his own finished service and his near end,—

“I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the

faith. Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness.”