"Mother of Eros, hear thy slave!
"Child of the foam, great goddess of love,
Aphrodite, look down from above!
Thou, who dost madden the gods with desire,
Thou, who fulfillest men's hearts with thy fire,
All but the heart of my lord that I crave,
Hark to thy slave!
"Spill this hot blood that courses in vain for him,
Darken these eyes that are heavy with pain for him,
Smite the parched lips that he sees but to spurn them,
The hands stretched in love ... take them, break them and burn them!
"Then, in the place where lately he strode,
Mingle mine ash with the dust of the road;
Thus, though I win not a glance from his eye,
Thus, though as ever he pass me by
Careless, unseeing, at least my lord's heel
Cannot but touch me, at least I shall feel
The embrace of his foot; and his sandall'd sole
Shall kiss my dust and make me whole.
"Then let the heart that he has press'd,
The ashen lips by him caressed
Sink low in the lowly dust of the road
Lest another tread where late he trod.
"Mother of Eros, hear thy slave!
"Child of the foam, great goddess of love,
Aphrodite, look down from above!
Thou, who dost madden the gods with desire,
Thou, who fulfillest men's hearts with thy fire,
All but the heart of my lord that I crave,
Hark to thy slave!"
Cora's song rang through the falling night. Her clear voice, tinkling
as though with little golden bells, at first soft and hushed, rose
throbbing in passion and then broke like a crystal ray and melted in
mournfulness and plaintive prayer.
The shadows lay heaped under the palm-trees. Outside the doors of their
apartments, in the galleries of the diversorium, sat the travelling
merchants, squatting or lying on mat or rug, listening. Uncle Catullus
lay in a hammock and Thrasyllus sat beside him and looked up at the
stars, which were beginning to show like silver daisies in wide,
blue meadows.
"You have sung beautifully, Cora," said Uncle Catullus to the slave,
who was sitting on the ground with the four-stringed harp before her.
"Thank you, my lord," said the slave.
"Why not call me uncle?" said Catullus, good-naturedly.
"I should not dare," said Cora, smiling.
"Ilia used to call me uncle."
"I am not Ilia, my lord."
Tarrar appeared in the pillared portico.
But his appearance was a surprise. For Tarrar, no longer bandaged,
looked like a little savage: he wore his Libyan festive garment;
a girdle of feathers hung round his waist; he was crowned with a
head-dress of feathers. And he stood grinning.
"Great gods, Tarrar!" cried Uncle Catullus, with a start. "What have
you done to yourself? You look like a little cannibal! You frighten
me! What's happening?"
"We are going to Canopus, my lord, to-night!" cried Tarrar,
jubilantly. "My Lord Lucius lets you know that we are all going to
Canopus this very night! Here is his lordship himself!"
And Tarrar pointed triumphantly to Lucius, who appeared upon the
threshold. Cora had risen and now curtseyed low to the ground, with
outstretched arms.
Lucius looked like a young Egyptian god. He wore an Egyptian robe
of striped byssus, with a border of hieroglyphics worked in heavy
embroidery and precious stones; his legs were encased in hose of gold
tissue; about his head was an Egyptian coif, like that of a sphinx,
with broad, projecting, striped bands, which fell to his shoulders;
he glittered with strange jewels and was wrapped from head to foot in
fine gold net like a transparent cloak, like an immaterial shroud. And
he approached with a smile, brilliantly, superhumanly beautiful.
"Great sacred gods! Great sacred gods!" exclaimed Uncle Catullus.
He rose; Thrasyllus rose too; and the merchants gathered round and, in
salaam upon salaam, showed their admiration for the dazzling stranger.
"Lucius, what possesses you? What is happening? Have you turned into
Serapis himself?"
"No, uncle," smiled Lucius, "I am merely clad in ceremonial raiment
because I want to go to Canopus and dream on the roof of the temple
of Serapis. It is the great feast; and Caleb"--he pointed to Caleb
stepping forward--"has persuaded me to go this night in state to
Canopus. You are coming too, uncle; you also, Thrasyllus; we shall
all go, all my freedmen and slaves. Caleb will see about a boat."
A violent and feverish excitement followed. Slaves, male and female,
streamed from every side of the diversorium, rejoicing and clasping
their hands in amazement.
"When any princely noble, such as his lordship," Caleb explained,
"goes to Canopus, to the feast of Serapis thrice holy, he goes in
the greatest state, with all his household to accompany him."
"So I am going too, as I belong to the household?" exclaimed Uncle
Catullus. "Only ... am I to rig myself out like that? And where shall
I find such a sumptuous raiment?"
"My lord," said Caleb, "you will find everything ready in your
chamber. You too, Master Thrasyllus."
Uncle Catullus hurried away, clasping his fat stomach in his two
hands. You never knew where you were with that Lucius! For days and
days he had been mourning and sobbing and lamenting; he had remained
invisible and had eaten nothing ... and there, there he appeared,
decked out like a young god, and wanted to go to Canopus, to dream
on the roof of the temple!
"And I had just been reckoning on a quiet evening, because I feel
that I've overloaded my stomach!" moaned Uncle Catullus. "Egypt will
be the death of me!"
Lights everywhere, links and torches; fever and gaiety everywhere,
because one and all were going to Canopus that night. What a
surprise! Their lord was no longer sick! It was the great feast! It
was the feast of Serapis! The feast of dreams! The water-festival
and the boat-festival! It was the summer festival of Canopus!
Vettius and Rufus, the two stewards, gave orders here, there and
everywhere. One and all, they said, were to deck themselves in festive
garb. Ione, the old female slave, who had charge of the harpists and
dancers, was given leave to buy from the merchants whatever she needed,
veils and ornaments.
"We are going to Canopus, we are going to Canopus!" cried the women,
in joyful chorus. "Quick, Ione, hand me the poppy-rouge! Here, a stick
of antimony! I want a blue veil, Ione, and blue lotus-flowers for my
hair! Quick, quick, Ione! The master is ready!"
"We are going to Canopus, we are going to Canopus!" Cora cried,
joyfully, with the rest. "My lord was like a young god, he looked
like Serapis himself! Ione, I must have a net of gold thread and a
dreaming-veil of gold thread and pink water-lilies for my hair! I
want a wreath of pink water-lilies!"
Lucius from afar beheld this stir, in the reflection of the lamps and
torches in the night. Slaves were running to and fro; litters were
prepared. He thought only of Ilia. He wanted to wrap himself in the
dreaming-veil and to lie on the temple-roof and dream where Ilia was,
where she had been carried ... by the pirates. And he stood like a
priest, gazing solemnly before him.