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

AND everything had failed. Vinicius lowered himself to the degree that

he sought support from freedmen and slaves, both those of Cæsar and

Poppæa; he overpaid their empty promises, he won their good will with

rich gifts. He found the first husband of Poppæa, Rufus Crispinus, and

obtained from him a letter. He gave a villa in Antium to Rufius, her

son by the first marriage; but thereby he merely angered Cæsar, who

hated his step-son. By a special courier he sent a letter to Poppæa’s

second husband, Otho, in Spain. He sacrificed his property and himself,

until he saw at last that he was simply the plaything of people; that if

he had pretended that the imprisonment of Lygia concerned him little, he

would have freed her sooner.

Petronius saw this, too. Meanwhile day followed day. The amphitheatre

was finished. The “tesseræ” were distributed,—that is, tickets of

entrance, to the ludus matutinus (morning games). But this time the

morning games, because of the unheard-of number of victims, were to

continue for days, weeks, and months. It was not known where to put the

Christians. The prisons were crammed, and fever was raging in them.

The puticuli—common pits in which slaves were kept—began to be

overfilled. There was fear that diseases might spread over the whole

city hence, haste.

All these reports struck the ears of Vinicius, extinguishing in him the

last hope. While there was yet time, he might delude himself with the

belief that he could do something, but now there was no time. The

spectacles must begin. Lygia might find herself any day in a cuniculum

of the circus, whence the only exit was to the arena. Vinicius, not

knowing whither fate and the cruelty of superior force might throw her,

visited all the circuses, bribed guards and beast-keepers, laying before

them plans which they could not execute. In time he saw that he was

working for this only,—to make death less terrible to her; and just

then he felt that instead of brains he had glowing coals in his head.

For the rest he had no thought of surviving her, and determined to

perish at the same time. But he feared lest pain might burn his life

out before the dreadful hour came. His friends and Petronius thought

also that any day might open the kingdom of shadows before him. His

face was black, and resembled those waxen masks kept in lararia. In his

features astonishment had grown frigid, as if he hid no understanding of

what had happened and what might happen. When any one spoke to him, he

raised his hands to his face mechanically, and, pressing his temples,

looked at the speaker with an inquiring and astonished gaze. He passed

whole nights with Ursus at Lygia’s door in the prison; if she commanded

him to go away and rest, he returned to Petronius, and walked in the

atrium till morning. The slaves found him frequently kneeling with

upraised hands or lying with his face to the earth. He prayed to

Christ, for Christ was his last hope. Everything had failed him. Only a

miracle could save Lygia; hence he beat the stone flags with his

forehead and prayed for the miracle.

But he knew enough yet to understand that Peter’s prayers were more

important than his own. Peter had promised him Lygia, Peter had

baptized him, Peter had performed miracles, let him give aid and rescue.

And a certain night he went to seek the Apostle. The Christians, of

whom not many remained, had concealed him now carefully even from other

brethren, lest any of the weaker in spirit might betray him wittingly or

unwittingly. Vinicius, amid the general confusion and disaster,

occupied also in efforts to get Lygia out of prison, had lost sight of

Peter, he had barely seen him once from the time of his own baptism till

the beginning of the persecution. But betaking himself to that

quarryman in whose hut he was baptized, he learned that there would be a

meeting outside the Porta Salaria in a vineyard which belonged to

Cornelius Pudens. The quarryman offered to guide him, and declared that

he would find Peter there. They started about dusk, and, passing beyond

the wall, through hollows overgrown with reeds, reached the vineyard in

a wild and lonely place. The meeting was held in a wine-shed. As

Vinicius drew near, the murmur of prayer reached his ears. On entering

he saw by dim lamplight a few tens of kneeling figures sunk in prayer.

They were saying a kind of litany; a chorus of voices, male and female,

repeated every moment, “Christ have mercy on us.” In those voices,

deep, piercing sadness and sorrow were heard.

Peter was present. He was kneeling in front of the others, before a

wooden cross nailed to the wall of the shed, and was praying. From a

distance Vinicius recognized his white hair and his upraised hands. The

first thought of the young patrician was to pass through the assembly,

cast himself at the Apostle’s feet, and cry, “Save!” but whether it was

the solemnity of the prayer, or because weakness bent the knees under

Vinicius, he began to repeat while he groaned and clasped his hands:

“Christ have mercy!” Had he been conscious, he would have understood

that his was not the only prayer in which there was a groan; that he was

not the only one who had brought with him his pain, alarm, and grief.

There was not in that assembly one soul which had not lost persons dear

to the heart; and when the most zealous and courageous confessors were

in prison already, when with every moment new tidings were borne about

of insults and tortures inflicted on them in the prisons, when the

greatness of the calamity exceeded every imagination, when only that

handful remained, there was not one heart there which was not terrified

in its faith, which did not ask doubtfully, Where is Christ? and why

does He let evil be mightier than God? Meanwhile they implored Him

despairingly for mercy, since in each soul there still smouldered a

spark of hope that He would come, hurl Nero into the abyss, and rule the

world. They looked yet toward the sky; they listened yet; they prayed

yet with trembling. Vinicius, too, in proportion as they repeated,

“Christ have mercy on us!” was seized by such an ecstasy as formerly in

the quarryman’s hut. Now from the depths they call on Him in the

profoundness of their sorrow, now Peter calls on Him; so any moment the

heavens may be rent, the earth tremble to its foundations, and He appear

in infinite glory, with stars at His feet, merciful, but awful. He will

raise up the faithful, and command the abysses to swallow the

persecutors.

Vinicius covered his face with both hands, and bowed to the earth.

Immediately silence was around him, as if fear had stopped further

breathing on the lips of all present. And it seemed to him that

something must happen surely, that a moment of miracle would follow. He

felt certain that when he rose and opened his eyes he would see a light

from which mortal eyes would be blinded, and hear a voice from which

hearts would grow faint.

But the silence was unbroken. It was interrupted at last by the sobbing

of women. Vinicius rose and looked forward with dazed eyes. In the

shed, instead of glories not of earth, shone the faint gleam of

lanterns, and rays of the moon, entering through an opening in the roof,

filled the place with silvery light. The people kneeling around

Vinicius raised their tearful eyes toward the cross in silence; here and

there sobbing was heard, and from outside came the warning whistles of

watchmen. Meanwhile Peter rose, and, turning to the assembly, said,

“Children, raise your hearts to the Redeemer and offer Him your tears.”

After that he was silent.

All at once was heard the voice of a woman, full of sorrowful complaint

and pain,—

“I am a widow; I had one son who supported me. Give him back, O Lord!”

Silence followed again. Peter was standing before the kneeling

audience, old, full of care. In that moment he seemed to them

decrepitude and weakness personified. With that a second voice began to

complain,

“Executioners insulted my daughter, and Christ permitted them!”

Then a third,—

“I alone have remained to my children, and when I am taken who will give

them bread and water?”

Then a fourth,—

“Linus, spared at first, they have taken now and put to torture, O

Lord!”

Then a fifth,

“When we return to our houses, pretorians will seize us. We know not

where to hide.”

“Woe to us! Who will protect us?”

And thus in that silence of the night complaint after complaint was

heard. The old fisherman closed his eyes and shook his white head over

that human pain and fear. New silence followed; the watchman merely

gave out low