Quo Vadis, Henryk Sienkiewicz [e book reader android .TXT] 📗

every

instant. The bacchantes screamed in heaven-piercing voices, and began

to hide in the chariots. Then some pillars which were burned through,

fell, scattered sparks, and increased the confusion. A blind dense wave

of people swept away Chilo, and bore him to the depth of the garden.

 

The pillars began to burn through in every direction and fall across the

streets, filling alleys with smoke, sparks, the odor of burnt wood and

burnt flesh. The nearer lights died. The gardens began to grow dark.

The crowds, alarmed, gloomy, and disturbed, pressed toward the gates.

News of what had happened passed from mouth to mouth, distorted and

increased. Some said that Cæsar had fainted; others that he had

confessed, saying that he had given command to burn Rome; others that he

had fallen seriously ill; and still others that he had been borne out,

as if dead, in the chariot. Here and there were heard voices of sympathy

for the Christians: “If they had not burned Rome, why so much blood,

torture, and injustice? Will not the gods avenge the innocent, and what

piacula can mollify them now?” The words innoxia corpora were repeated

oftener and oftener. Women expressed aloud their pity for children

thrown in such numbers to wild beasts, nailed to crosses or burned in

those cursed gardens! And finally pity was turned into abuse of Cæsar

and Tigellinus. There were persons, too, who, stopping suddenly, asked

themselves or others the question, “What kind of divinity is that which

gives such strength to meet torture and death?” And they returned home

in meditation.

 

But Chilo was wandering about in the gardens, not knowing where to go or

where to turn. Again he felt himself a weak, helpless, sick old man.

 

Now he stumbled against partly burnt bodies; now he struck a torch,

which sent a shower of sparks after him; now he sat down, and looked

around with vacant stare. The gardens had become almost dark. The pale

moon moving among the trees shone with uncertain light on the alleys,

the dark pillars lying across them, and the partly burnt victims turned

into shapeless lumps. But the old Greek thought that in the moon he saw

the face of Glaucus, whose eyes were looking at him yet persistently,

and he hid before the light. At last he went out of the shadow, in

spite of himself; as if pushed by some hidden power, he turned toward

the fountain where Glaucus had yielded up the spirit.

 

Then some hand touched his shoulder. He turned, and saw an unknown

person before him.

 

“Who art thou?” exclaimed he, with terror.

 

“Paul of Tarsus.”

 

“I am accursed!—What dost thou wish?”

 

“I wish to save thee,” answered the Apostle.

 

Chilo supported himself against a tree. His legs bent under him, and

his arms hung parallel with his body.

 

“For me there is no salvation,” said he, gloomily.

 

“Hast thou heard how God forgave the thief on the cross who pitied Him?”

inquired Paul.

 

“Dost thou know what I have done?”

 

“I saw thy suffering, and heard thy testimony to the truth.”

 

“O Lord!”

 

“And if a servant of Christ forgave thee in the hour of torture and

death, why should Christ not forgive thee?”

 

Chilo seized his head with both hands, as if in bewilderment.

 

“Forgiveness! for me, forgiveness!”

 

“Our God is a God of mercy,” said Paul.

 

“For me?” repeated Chilo; and he began to groan like a man who lacks

strength to control his pain and suffering.

 

“Lean on me,” said Paul, “and go with me.”

 

And taking him he went to the crossing of the streets, guided by the

voice of the fountain, which seemed to weep in the night stillness over

the bodies of those who had died in torture.

 

“Our God is a God of mercy,” repeated the Apostle. “Wert thou to stand

at the sea and cast in pebbles, couldst thou fill its depth with them?

I tell thee that the mercy of Christ is as the sea, and that the sins

and faults of men sink in it as pebbles in the abyss; I tell thee that

it is like the sky which covers mountains, lands, and seas, for it is

everywhere and has neither end nor limit. Thou hast suffered at the

pillar of Glaucus. Christ saw thy suffering. Without reference to what

may meet thee tomorrow, thou didst say, ‘That is the incendiary,’ and

Christ remembers thy words. Thy malice and falsehood are gone; in thy

heart is left only boundless sorrow. Follow me and listen to what I say.

I am he who hated Christ and persecuted His chosen ones. I did not want

Him, I did not believe in Him till He manifested Himself and called me.

Since then He is, for me, mercy. He has visited thee with compunction,

with alarm, and with pain, to call thee to Himself. Thou didst hate

Him, but He loved thee. Thou didst deliver His confessors to torture,

but He wishes to forgive and save thee.”

 

Immense sobbing shook the breast of the wretched man, sobbing by which

the soul in him was rent to its depths; but Paul took possession of him,

mastered him, led him away, as a soldier leads a captive.

 

After a while the Apostle began again to speak:—

 

“Come with me; I will lead thee to Him. For why else have I come to

thee?

 

“Christ commanded me to gather in souls in the name of love; hence I

perform His service. Thou thinkest thyself accursed, but I say: Believe

in Him, and salvation awaits thee. Thou thinkest that thou art hated,

but I repeat that He loves thee. Look at me. Before I had Him I had

nothing save malice, which dwelt in my heart, and now His love suffices

me instead of father and mother, wealth and power. In Him alone is

refuge. He alone will see thy sorrow, believe in thy misery, remove thy

alarm, and raise thee to Himself.”

 

Thus speaking, he led him to the fountain, the silver stream of which

gleamed from afar in the moonlight. Round about was silence; the

gardens were empty, for slaves had removed the charred pillars and the

bodies of the martyrs.

 

Chilo threw himself on his knees with a groan, and hiding his face in

his hands remained motionless. Paul raised his face to the stars. “O

Lord,” prayed he, “look on this wretched man, on his sorrow, his tears,

and his suffering! O God of mercy, who hast shed Thy blood for our

sins, forgive him, through Thy torment, Thy death and resurrection!”

 

Then he was silent; but for a long time he looked toward the stars, and

prayed.

 

Meanwhile from under his feet was heard a cry which resembled a groan,—

 

“O Christ! O Christ! forgive me!”

 

Paul approached the fountain then, and, taking water in his hand, turned

to the kneeling wretch,—

 

“Chilo!—I baptize thee in the name of the Father, Son, and Spirit.

Amen!”

 

Chilo raised his head, opened his arms, and remained in that posture.

The moon shone with full light on his white hair and on his equally

white face, which was as motionless as if dead or cut out of stone. The

moments passed one after another. From the great aviaries in the

gardens of Domitian came the crowing of cocks; but Chilo remained

kneeling, like a statue on a monument. At last he recovered, spoke to

the Apostle, and asked,—

 

“What am I to do before death?”

 

Paul was roused also from meditation on the measureless power which even

such spirits as that of this Greek could not resist, and answered,—

 

“Have faith, and bear witness to the truth.”

 

They went out together. At the gate the Apostle blessed the old man

again, and they parted. Chilo himself insisted on this, for after what

had happened he knew that Cæsar and Tigellinus would give command to

pursue him.

 

Indeed he was not mistaken. When he returned home, he found the house

surrounded by pretorians, who led him away, and took him under direction

of Scevinus to the Palatine.

 

Cæsar had gone to rest, but Tigellinus was waiting. When he saw the

unfortunate Greek, he greeted him with a calm but ominous face.

 

“Thou hast committed the crime of treason,” said he, “and punishment

will not pass thee; but if tomorrow thou testify in the amphitheatre

that thou wert drunk and mad, and that the authors of the conflagration

are Christians, thy punishment will be limited to stripes and exile.”

 

“I cannot do that,” answered Chilo, calmly.

 

Tigellinus approached him with slow step, and with a voice also low but

terrible,—

 

“How is that?” asked he. “Thou canst not, Greek dog? Wert thou not

drunk, and dost thou not understand what is waiting for thee? Look

there!” and he pointed to a corner of the atrium in which, near a long

wooden bench, stood four Thracian slaves in the shade with ropes, and

with pincers in their hands.

 

But Chilo answered,—

 

“I cannot!”

 

Rage seized Tigellinus, but he restrained himself yet.

 

“Hast thou seen,” inquired he, “how Christians die? Dost wish to die in

that way?”

 

The old man raised his pale face; for a time his lips moved in silence,

and he answered,—

 

“I too believe in Christ.”

 

Tigellinus looked at him with amazement. “Dog, thou hast gone mad in

fact!”

 

And suddenly the rage in his breast broke its bounds. Springing at

Chilo, he caught him by the beard with both hands, hurled him to the

floor, trampled him, repeating, with foam on his lips,—

 

“Thou wilt retract! thou wilt!”

 

“I cannot!” answered Chilo from the floor.

 

“To the tortures with him!”

 

At this command the Thracians seized the old man, and placed him on the

bench; then, fastening him with ropes to it, they began to squeeze his

thin shanks with pincers. But when they were tying him he kissed their

hands with humility; then he closed his eyes, and seemed dead.

 

He was alive, though; for when Tigellinus bent over him and inquired

once again, “Wilt thou retract?” his white lips moved slightly, and from

them came the barely audible whisper,—

 

“I cannot.”

 

Tigellinus gave command to stop the torture, and began to walk up and

down in the atrium with a face distorted by anger, but helpless. At last

a new idea came to his head, for he turned to the Thracians and said,—

 

“Tear out his tongue!”