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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.

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

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