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

“Lord,” asked he, “how didst thou come, and hast thou come here to save

her?”

Vinicius rose, and struggled for a time with his emotion. “Show me the

means,” replied he.

“I thought that thou wouldst find them, lord. Only one method came to

my head—”

Here he turned toward the grating in the wall, as if in answer to

himself, and said,—

“In that way—but there are soldiers outside—”

“A hundred pretorians.”

“Then we cannot pass?”

“No!”

The Lygian rubbed his forehead, and asked again,—

“How didst thou enter?”

“I have a tessera from the overseer of the ‘Putrid Pits.’” Then Vinicius

stopped suddenly, as if some idea had flashed through his head.

“By the Passion of the Redeemer,” said he, in a hurried voice, “I will

stay here. Let her take my tessera; she can wrap her head in a cloth,

cover her shoulders with a mantle, and pass out. Among the slaves who

carry out corpses there are several youths not full grown; hence the

pretorians will not notice her, and once at the house of Petronius she

is safe.”

But the Lygian dropped his head on his breast, and said,—“She would not

consent, for she loves thee; besides, she is sick, and unable to stand

alone. If thou and the noble Petronius cannot save her from prison, who

can?” said he, after a while.

“Christ alone.”

Then both were silent.

“Christ could save all Christians,” thought the Lygian, in his simple

heart; “but since He does not save them, it is clear that the hour of

torture and death has come.”

He accepted it for himself, but was grieved to the depth of his soul for

that child who had grown up in his arms, and whom he loved beyond life.

Vinicius knelt again near Lygia. Through the grating in the wall

moonbeams came in, and gave better light than the one candle burning yet

over the entrance. Lygia opened her eyes now, and said, placing her

feverish hand on the arm of Vinicius,

“I see thee; I knew that thou wouldst come.”

He seized her hands, pressed them to his forehead and his heart, raised

her somewhat, and held her to his breast.

“I have come, dearest. May Christ guard and free thee, beloved Lygia!”

He could say no more, for the heart began to whine in his breast from

pain and love, and he would not show pain in her presence.

“I am sick, Marcus,” said Lygia, “and I must die either on the arena or

here in prison—I have prayed to see thee before death; thou hast come,

—Christ has heard me.”—

Unable to utter a word yet, he pressed her to his bosom, and she

continued,—

“I saw thee through the window in the Tullianum. I saw that thou hadst

the wish to come to me. Now the Redeemer has given me a moment of

consciousness, so that we may take farewell of each other. I am going

to Him, Marcus, but I love thee, and shall love always.”

Vinicius conquered himself; he stifled his pain and began to speak in a

voice which he tried to make calm,—

“No, dear Lygia, thou wilt not die. The Apostle commanded me to

believe, and he promised to pray for thee; he knew Christ,—Christ loved

him and will not refuse him. Hadst thou to die, Peter would not have

commanded me to be confident; but he said, ‘Have confidence!’—No,

Lygia! Christ will have mercy. He does not wish thy death. He will

not permit it. I Swear to thee by the name of the Redeemer that Peter

is praying for thee.”

Silence followed. The one candle hanging above the entrance went out,

but moonlight entered through the whole opening. In the opposite corner

of the cellar a child whined and was silent. From outside came the

voices of pretorians, who, after watching their turn out, were playing

under the wall at scriptœ duodecim.

“O Marcus,” said Lygia, “Christ Himself called to the Father, ‘Remove

this bitter cup from Me’; still He drank it. Christ Himself died on the

cross, and thousands are perishing for His sake. Why, then, should He

spare me alone? Who am I, Marcus? I have heard Peter say that he too

would die in torture. Who am I, compared with Peter? When the

pretorians came to us, I dreaded death and torture, but I dread them no

longer. See what a terrible prison this is, but I am going to heaven.

Think of it: Cæsar is here, but there the Redeemer, kind and merciful.

And there is no death there. Thou lovest me; think, then, how happy I

shall be. Oh, dear Marcus, think that thou wilt come to me there.”

Here she stopped to get breath in her sick breast, and then raised his

hand to her lips,—

“Marcus?”

“What, dear one?”

“Do not weep for me, and remember this,—thou wilt come to me. I have

lived a short time, but God gave thy soul to me; hence I shall tell

Christ that though I died, and thou wert looking at my death, though

thou wert left in grief, thou didst not blaspheme against His will, and

that thou lovest Him always. Thou wilt love Him, and endure my death

patiently? For then He will unite us. I love thee and I wish to be

with thee.”

Breath failed her then, and in a barely audible voice she finished,

“Promise me this, Marcus!”

Vinicius embraced her with trembling arms, and said,

“By thy sacred head! I promise.”

Her pale face became radiant in the sad light of the moon, and once more

she raised his hand to her lips, and whispered,—

“I am thy wife!”

Beyond the wall the pretorians playing scriptœ duodecim raised a louder

dispute; but Vinicius and Lygia forgot the prison, the guards, the

world, and, feeling within them the souls of angels, they began to pray.