Those were sad days. Lucius would lie on his bed, sobbing like a child,
then rise suddenly, in transports of rage, tear his clothes or take
up a stool and hurl it at a marble statue, which fell down in dust
and fragments. He showed Thrasyllus the door; and Uncle Catullus kept
out of the way. Lucius had ended by banging Tarrar against a table;
and the little slave had a deep wound in his forehead. Caleb, who
was a good hand at doctoring, had himself bandaged Tarrar's head.
Anxiously, in the palm-garden, the travelling merchants whispered
about the wealthy Roman, who was sick with sorrow, and Uncle Catullus
whispered in their company. Thrasyllus consoled himself by visiting
the libraries of the Museum and the Serapeum. Lucius refused to
hear any music. He did not leave his bed. He did not eat. He did not
sleep. He looked unshaven, lean-cheeked and hollow-eyed, as one who
was desperately sick.
They were sad days. The first charm of Alexandria was past; and Lucius
cursed his journey, his whole life and everybody. In his impotent
pain he groaned, sobbed and raved. Master Ghizla ordained silence
and quiet around his rooms. Not a sandal creaked, not a voice sounded.
Lucius listened to this stillness. It was after luncheon, which Uncle
Catullus had taken alone with Thrasyllus. And in the burning sunny
stillness of that glowing June Lucius suddenly heard a child sobbing.
He rose from his couch. The sobs came from the back-garden; and Lucius
raised the curtain and looked out. There, listening for his master's
gong, sat Tarrar, huddled, like a little monkey, in a gaudy coat. He
wore a napkin round his head as a bandage. And he was weeping, with
little sobs, as if he were in great sorrow.
"Tarrar!" cried Lucius.
The little slave started up:
"My lord!" he answered.
And he rose and approached with comical reverence and sobbed.
"Tarrar," said Lucius, "why are you weeping? Are you in pain?"
"No, my lord," said Tarrar. "I beg pardon, my lord, for weeping. I
must not weep in your august presence. I humbly beg your pardon,
my lord. But I am weeping because ... because ... because I am so
unhappy."
"And why are you unhappy? Because I struck you? Because you are in
pain? Because you fell and made a hole in your head?"
"No, my lord," said Tarrar, trying to control himself, "not because
you struck me. I am your little slave, my lord, and you have the
right to strike me. And also not because I am in pain: there is only
a little burning pain now, for Caleb bandaged my head this morning
with cool ointment. The hole is not so very deep either; and, when
it is healed, the scar will remind me that I belong to you, my lord,
and that I am your little slave."
"But then why are you weeping, Tarrar, and why are you unhappy?"
"I am weeping, my lord," Tarrar began, "because...."
And then he could restrain himself no longer, comical, respectful
little monkey that he was, and sobbed aloud.
Lucius laid his hand on the boy's curly head:
"Why are you weeping, child?"
"Because the snakes wouldn't dance any more!" sobbed Tarrar, in
despair. "Because one of them is dead and the other gone, for it crept
out of its skin and left its skin behind! Because, whatever pains I
took to pipe the magic tune on the flute--in the garden behind the
house, so as not to make a noise or disturb you--the snakes would not
dance any more ... as they did when the merchant piped to them! And
because now ... one of the snakes is dead, my lord, and the other
crept away out of its skin!"
And Tarrar, overcome with misery, sobbed aloud and showed his master
the snake and the ebony casket, from which a skin hung, with a square
piece of glass gummed to the head.
Lucius gave a melancholy smile. Was he not himself miserable, like
Tarrar, because he too had been robbed of his plaything? And he said:
"Come with me, Tarrar."
And he took the little slave by the hand and led him to his room.
He sat down, with Tarrar standing in front of him. Then he said:
"Tarrar, I am sorry for hurting you so badly. Forgive me, Tarrar."
But Tarrar shook his head:
"It is not for me to forgive you, my lord," he said, earnestly,
with great, dim eyes. "You are the master."
"Tarrar," Lucius continued, "when we are back in Rome, you shall
be free. I will set you free. And you shall no longer be a little
slave. But you shall go to school, to the freedmen's college. And learn
all sorts of things. And become very clever, like Thrasyllus. And I
will give you money. And you will be able to do whatever you please."
Tarrar was a little taken aback:
"You are very kind, my lord," he said. "But, if I go to school, who
will fold your clothes? And listen for your gong? You are not driving
me away, my lord, because I was so unhappy? I would rather stay with
you, my lord, I would rather remain your little slave ... and I will
never again be so disrespectful as to weep.... I would rather remain
your stupid little slave."
"You shall be free, Tarrar. But you will be allowed to serve me all
the same."
"I don't want to be free, my lord. What use is freedom to me? I am your
little slave. I should always be your little slave just as before."
"Then ask me something else, Tarrar, something that you would like
very much."
Tarrar grinned with his white teeth through his tears:
"May I tell you, my lord?"
"Yes."
Tarrar hesitated. Then he said, shyly:
"Two other little dancing snakes, my lord."
Lucius laughed softly:
"Child!" he said. "I will give you two other little snakes! But I fear
that those also will refuse to dance as only the Indian merchant can
make them dance."
"I fear so too," said Tarrar, reflecting. "The snake that is still
alive has crept back to the merchant, I expect, out of the skin which
it left behind it. I also fear that the new snakes would refuse to
dance.... Then I would rather have nothing, my lord. I don't want
anything. If only I may serve you."
"Then get everything ready to shave me ... and tell the slaves to
prepare the bath."
"Yes, my lord," said Tarrar, with alacrity.