The brother and sister had walked some distance. The roads were full of
people, and the nearer they came to the Nekropolis the denser was the
throng.
As they skirted the town walls they took counsel together.
Being perfectly agreed that the girl who had touched Philip’s hand
could certainly be no daimon who had assumed Korinna’s form, they were
inclined to accept the view that a strong resemblance had deceived their
brother. They finally decided that Alexander should try to discover the
maiden who so strangely resembled the dead; and the artist was ready for
the task, for he could only work when his heart was light, and had
never felt such a weight on it before. The hope of meeting with a living
creature who resembled that fair dead maiden, combined with his wish to
rescue his brother from the disorder of mind which threatened him; and
Melissa perceived with glad surprise how quickly this new object in life
restored the youth’s happy temper.
It was she who spoke most, and Alexander, whom nothing escaped that had
any form of beauty, feasted his ear on the pearly ring of her voice.
“And her face is to match,” thought he as they went on in the darkness;
“and may the Charites who have endowed her with every charm, forgive my
father for burying her as he does his gold.”
It was not in his nature to keep anything that stirred him deeply to
himself, when he was in the society of another, so he murmured to his
sister: “It is just as well that the Macedonian youths of this
city should not be able to see what a jewel our old man’s house
contains.--Look how brightly Selene shines on us, and how gloriously the
stars burn! Nowhere do the heavens blaze more brilliantly than here. As
soon as we come out of the shadow that the great walls cast on the road
we shall be in broad light. There is the Serapeum rising out of the
darkness. They are rehearsing the great illumination which is to dazzle
the eyes of Caesar when he comes. But they must show too, that to-night,
at least, the gods of the nether world and death are all awake. You can
never have been in the Nekropolis at so late an hour before.”
“How should I?” replied the girl. And he expressed the pleasure that it
gave him to be able to show her for the first time the wonderful night
scene of such a festival. And when he heard the deep-drawn “Ah!” with
which she hailed the sight of the greatest temple of all, blazing in the
midst of the darkness with tar-pans, torches, and lamps innumerable,
he replied with as much pride and satisfaction as though she owed the
display to him, “Ay, what do you think of that?”
Above the huge stone edifice which was thus lighted up, the dome of the
Serapeum rose high into the air, its summit appearing to touch the sky.
Never had the gigantic structure seemed so beautiful to the girl, who
had only seen it by daylight; for under the illumination, arranged by a
master-hand, every line stood out more clearly than in the sunlight; and
in the presence of this wonderful sight Melissa’s impressionable young
soul forgot the trouble that had weighed on it, and her heart beat
higher.
Her lonely life with her father had hitherto fully satisfied her, and
she had, never yet dreamed of anything better in the future than a
quiet and modest existence, caring for him and her brothers; but now she
thankfully experienced the pleasure of seeing for once something really
grand and fine, and rejoiced at having escaped for a while from the
monotony of each day and hour.
Once, too, she had been with her brothers and Diodoros, Alexander’s
greatest friend, to see a wild-beast fight, followed by a combat of
gladiators; but she had come home frightened and sorrowful, for what
she had seen had horrified more than it had interested her. Some of the
killed and tortured beings haunted her mind; and, besides, sitting in
the lowest and best seats belonging to Diodoros’s wealthy father, she
had been stared at so boldly and defiantly whenever she raised her eyes,
by a young gallant opposite, that she had felt vexed and insulted; nay,
had wished above all things to get home as soon as possible. And yet
she had loved Diodoros from her childhood, and she would have enjoyed
sitting quietly by his side more than looking on at the show.
But on this occasion her curiosity was gratified, and the hope of being
able to help one who was dear to her filled her with quiet gladness.
It was a comfort to her, too, to find herself once more by her mother’s
grave with Alexander, who was her especial friend. She could never come
here often enough, and the blessing which emanated from it--of that she
was convinced--must surely fall on her brother also, and avert from him
all that grieved his heart.
As they walked on between the Serapeum on one hand, towering high above
all else, and the Stadium on the other, the throng was dense; on the
bridge over the canal it was difficult to make any progress. Now, as
the full moon rose, the sacrifices and games in honor of the gods of
the under world were beginning, and now the workshops and factories had
emptied themselves into the streets already astir for the festival of
the dead, so every moment the road became more crowded.
Such a tumult was generally odious to her retiring nature; but to-night
she felt herself merely one drop in the great, flowing river, of which
every other drop felt the same impulse which was carrying her forward
to her destination. The desire to show the dead that they were not
forgotten, that their favor was courted and hoped for, animated men and
women, old and young alike.
There were few indeed who had not a wreath or a posy in their hands, or
carried behind them by a slave. In front of the brother and sister was
a large family of children. A black nurse carried the youngest on her
shoulder, and an ass bore a basket in which were flowers for the tomb,
with a wineflask and eatables. A memorial banquet was to be held at the
grave of their ancestors; and the little one, whose golden head rose
above the black, woolly poll of the negress, nodded gayly in response to
Melissa’s smiles. The children were enchanted at the prospect of a meal
at such an unusual hour, and their parents rejoiced in them and in the
solemn pleasure they anticipated.
Many a one in this night of remembrance only cared to recall the happy
hours spent in the society of the beloved dead; others hoped to leave
their grief and pain behind them, and find fresh courage and contentment
in the City of the Dead; for tonight the gates of the nether world stood
open, and now, if ever, the gods that reigned there would accept the
offerings and hear the prayers of the devout.
Those lean Egyptians, who pushed past in silence and haranging
their heads, were no doubt bent on carrying offerings to Osiris and
Anubis--for the festival of the gods of death and resurrection coincided
with the Nekysia--and on winning their favors by magical formulas and
spells.
Everything was plainly visible, for the desert tract of the Nekropolis,
where at this hour utter darkness and silence usually reigned, was
brightly lighted up. Still, the blaze failed to banish entirely the
thrill of fear which pervaded the spot at night; for the unwonted glare
dazzled and bewildered the bats and night-birds, and they fluttered
about over the heads of the intruders in dark, ghostly flight. Many a
one believed them to be the unresting souls of condemned sinners, and
looked up at them with awe.
Melissa drew her veil closer and clung more tightly to her brother, for
a sound of singing and wild cries, which she had heard behind her for
some time, was now coming closer. They were no longer treading the paved
street, but the hard-beaten soil of the desert. The crush was over, for
here the crowd could spread abroad; but the uproarious troop, which she
did not even dare to look at, came rushing past quite close to them.
They were Greeks, of all ages and of both sexes. The men flourished
torches, and were shouting a song with unbridled vehemence; the women,
wearing garlands, kept up with them. What they carried in the baskets
on their heads could not be seen, nor did Alexander know; for so many
religious brotherhoods and mystic societies existed here that it was
impossible to guess to which this noisy troop might belong.
The pair had presently overtaken a little train of white-robed men
moving forward at a solemn pace, whom the painter recognized as the
philosophical and religious fraternity of the Neo-Pythagoreans, when a
small knot of men and women in the greatest excitement came rushing past
as if they were mad. The men wore the loose red caps of their Phrygian
land; the women carried bowls full of fruits. Some beat small drums,
others clanged cymbals, and each hauled his neighbor along with
deafening cries, faster and faster, till the dust hid them from sight
and a new din drowned the last, for the votaries of Dionysus were
already close upon them, and vied with the Phrygians in uproariousness.
But this wild troop remained behind; for one of the light-colored oxen,
covered with decorations, which was being driven in the procession by
a party of men and boys, to be presently sacrificed, had broken away,
maddened by the lights and the shouting, and had to be caught and led
again.
At last they reached the graveyard. But even now they could not make
their way to the long row of houses where the embalmers dwelt, for an
impenetrable mass of human beings stood pent up in front of them, and
Melissa begged her brother to give her a moment’s breathing space.
All she had seen and heard on the way had excited her greatly; but she
had scarcely for a moment forgotten what it was that had brought her out
so late, who it was that she sought, or that it would need her utmost
endeavor to free him from the delusion that had fooled him. In this
dense throng and deafening tumult it was scarcely possible to recover
that collected calm which she had found in the morning at her mother’s
tomb. In that, doubt had had no part, and the delightful feeling of
freedom which had shone on her soul, now shrank deep into the shade
before a growing curiosity and the longing for her usual repose.
If her father were to find her here! When she saw a tall figure
resembling his cross the torchlight, all clouded as it was by the dust,
she drew her brother away behind the stall of a seller of drinks and
other refreshments. The father, at any rate, must be spared the distress
she felt about Philip, who was his favorite. Besides, she knew full well
that, if he met her here, he would at once take her home.
The question now was where Philip might be found.
They were standing close to the booths where itinerant dealers sold
food and liquors of every description, flowers and wreaths, amulets and
papyrus-leaves, with strange charms written on them to secure health for
the living and salvation for the souls of the dead. An astrologer, who
foretold the course of a man’s life from the position of the planets,
had erected a high platform with large tables displayed to view, and the
instrument wherewith he aimed at the stars as it were with a bow;
and his Syrian slave, accompanying himself on a gayly-painted drum,
proclaimed his master’s powers. There were closed tents in which magical
remedies were to be obtained, though their open sale was forbidden by
the authorities, from love-philters to the wondrous fluid which, if
rightly applied, would turn lead, copper, or silver to gold. Here, old
women invited the passer-by to try Thracian and other spells; there,
magicians stalked to and fro in painted caps and flowing, gaudy robes,
most of them calling themselves priests of some god of the abyss. Men
of every race and tongue that dwelt in the north of Africa, or on the
shores of the Mediterranean, were packed in a noisy throng.
The greatest press was behind the houses of the men who buried the dead.
Here sacrifices were offered on the altars of Serapis, Isis, and Anubis;
here the sacred sistrum of Isis might be kissed; here hundreds of
priests performed solemn ceremonies, and half of those who came hither
for the festival of the dead collected about them. The mysteries
were also performed here, beginning before midnight; and a dramatic
representation might be seen of the woes of Isis, and the resurrection
of her husband Osiris. But neither here, nor at the stalls, nor among
the graves, where many families were feasting by torchlight and pouring
libations in the sand for the souls of the dead, did Alexander expect
to find his brother. Nor would Philip be attending the mysterious
solemnities of any of the fraternities. He had witnessed them often
enough with his friend Diodoros, who never missed the procession to
Eleusis, because, as he declared, the mysteries of Demeter alone could
assure a man of the immortality of the soul. The wild ceremonies of the
Syrians, who maimed themselves in their mad ecstasy, repelled him as
being coarse and barbarous.
As she made her way through this medley of cults, this worship of gods
so different that they were in some cases hostile, but more often merged
into each other, Melissa wondered to which she ought to turn in her
present need. Her mother had best loved to sacrifice to Serapis and
Isis. But since, in her last sickness, Melissa had offered everything
she possessed to these divinities of healing, and all in vain, and since
she had heard things in the Serapeum itself which even now brought
a blush to her cheek, she had turned away from the great god of the
Alexandrians. Though he who had offended her by such base proposals was
but a priest of the lower grade--and indeed, though she knew it not, was
since dead--she feared meeting him again, and had avoided the sanctuary
where he officiated.
She was a thorough Alexandrian, and had been accustomed from childhood
to listen to the philosophical disputations of the men about her. So she
perfectly understood her brother Philip, the skeptic, when he said that
he by no means denied the existence of the immortals, but that, on the
other hand, he could not believe in it; that thought brought him no
conviction; that man, in short, could be sure of nothing, and so could
know nothing whatever of the divinity. He had even denied, on logical
grounds, the goodness and omnipotence of the gods, the wisdom and
fitness of the ordering of the universe, and Melissa was proud of her
brother’s acumen; but what appeals to the brain only, and not to
the heart, can not move a woman to anything great--least of all to a
decisive change of life or feeling. So the girl had remained constant to
her mother’s faith in some mighty powers outside herself, which guided
the life of Nature and of human beings. Only she did not feel that she
had found the true god, either in Serapis or Isis, and so she had sought
others. Thus she had formulated a worship of ancestors, which, as she
had learned from the slave-woman of her friend Ino, was not unfamiliar
to the Egyptians.
In Alexandria there were altars to every god, and worship in every form.
Hers, however, was not among them, for the genius of her creed was the
enfranchised soul of her mother, who had cast off the burden of this
perishable body. Nothing had ever come from her that was not good and
lovely; and she knew that if her mother were permitted, even in some
other than human form, she would never cease to watch over her with
tender care.
And those initiated into the Eleusinian mysteries, as Diodoros had told
her, desired the immortality of the soul, to the end that they might
continue to participate in the life of those whom they had left behind.
What was it that brought such multitudes at this time out to the
Nekropolis, with their hands full of offerings, but the consciousness
of their nearness to the dead, and of being cared for by them so long as
they were not forgotten? And even if the glorified spirit of her mother
were not permitted to hear her prayers, she need not therefore cease to
turn to her; for it comforted her unspeakably to be with her in spirit,
and to confide to her all that moved her soul. And so her mother’s tomb
had become her favorite place of rest. Here, if anywhere, she now hoped
once more to find comfort, some happy suggestion, and perhaps some
definite assistance.
She begged Alexander to take her thither, and he consented, though he
was of opinion that Philip would be found in the mortuary chamber, in
the presence of Korinna’s portrait.
It was not easy to force their way through the thousands who had come
out to the great show this night; however, most of the visitors were
attracted by the mysteries far away from the Macedonian burial-ground,
and there was little to disturb the silence near the fine marble
monument which Alexander, to gratify his father, had erected with his
first large earnings. It was hung with various garlands, and Melissa,
before she prayed and anointed the stone, examined them with eye and
hand.
Those which she and her father had placed there she recognized at once.
That humble garland of reeds with two lotus-flowers was the gift of
their old slave Argutis and his wife Dido. This beautiful wreath of
choice flowers had come from the garden of a neighbor who had loved her
mother well; and that splendid basketful of lovely roses, which had not
been there this morning, had been placed here by Andreas, steward to the
father of her young friend Diodoros, although he was of the Christian
sect. And these were all. Philip had not been here then, though it was
now past midnight.
For the first time in his life he had let this day pass by without a
thought for their dead. How bitterly this grieved Melissa, and even
added to her anxiety for him!
It was with a heavy heart that she and Alexander anointed the tombstone;
and while Melissa uplifted her hands in prayer, the painter stood in
silence, his eyes fixed on the ground. But no sooner had she let them
fall, than he exclaimed:
“He is here, I am sure, and in the house of the embalmers. That he
ordered two wreaths is perfectly certain; and if he meant one for
Korinna’s picture, he surely intended the other for our mother. If he
has offered both to the young girl--”
“No, no!” Melissa put in. “He will bring his gift. Let us wait here a
little while, and do you, too, pray to the manes of our mother. Do it to
please me.”
But her brother interrupted her eagerly: “I think of her wherever I may
be; for those we truly love always live for us. Not a day passes, nor
if I come in sober, not a night, when I do not see her dear face, either
waking or dreaming. Of all things sacred, the thought of her is the
highest; and if she had been raised to divine honors like the dead
Caesars who have brought so many curses on the world--”
“Hush--don’t speak so loud!” said Melissa, seriously, for men were
moving to and fro among the tombs, and Roman guards kept watch over the
populace.
But the rash youth went on in the same tone:
“I would worship her gladly, though I have forgotten how to pray. For
who can tell here--unless he follows the herd and worships Serapis--who
can tell to which god of them all he shall turn when he happens to be at
his wits’ end? While my mother lived, I, like you, could gladly worship
and sacrifice to the immortals; but Philip has spoiled me for all that.
As to the divine Caesars, every one thinks as I do. My mother would
sooner have entered a pesthouse than the banqueting-hall where they
feast, on Olympus. Caracalla among the gods! Why, Father Zeus cast his
son Hephaistos on earth from the height of Olympus, and only broke his
leg; but our Caesar accomplished a more powerful throw, for he cast his
brother through the earth into the nether world--an imperial thrust--and
not merely lamed him but killed him.”
“Well done!” said a deep voice, interrupting the young artist. “Is that
you, Alexander? Hear what new titles to fame Heron’s son can find for
the imperial guest who is to arrive to-morrow.”
“Pray hush!” Melissa besought him, looking up at the bearded man who had
laid his arm on Alexander’s shoulder. It was Glaukias the sculptor, her
father’s tenant; for his work-room stood on the plot of ground by
the garden of Hermes, which the gem-cutter had inherited from his
father-in-law.
The man’s bold, manly features were flushed with wine and revelry; his
twinkling eyes sparkled, and the ivy-leaves still clinging to his curly
hair showed that he had been one in the Dionysiac revellers; but
the Greek blood which ran in his veins preserved his grace even in
drunkenness. He bowed gayly to the young girl, and exclaimed to his
companions:
“The youngest pearl in Alexandria’s crown of beauties!” while Bion,
Alexander’s now gray-haired master, clapped the youth on the arm,
and added: “Yes, indeed, see what the little thing has grown! Do
you remember, pretty one, how you once--how many years ago, I
wonder?--spotted your little white garments all over with red dots! I
can see you now, your tiny finger plunged into the pot of paint, and
then carefully printing off the round pattern all over the white linen.
Why, the little painter has become a Hebe, a Charis, or, better still, a
sweetly dreaming Psyche.”
“Ay, ay!” said Glaukias again. “My worthy landlord has a charming model.
He has not far to seek for a head for his best gems. His son, a Helios,
or the great Macedonian whose name he bears; his daughter--you are
right, Bion--the maid beloved of Eros. Now, if you can make verses, my
young friend of the Muses, give us an epigram in a line or two which we
may bear in mind as a compliment to our imperial visitor.”
“But not here--not in the burial-ground,” Melissa urged once more.
Among Glaukias’s companions was Argeios, a vain and handsome young poet,
with scented locks betraying him from afar, who was fain to display the
promptness of his poetical powers; and, even while the elder artist
was speaking, he had run Alexander’s satirical remarks into the mold
of rhythm. Not to save his life could he have suppressed the hastily
conceived distich, or have let slip such a justifiable claim to
applause. So, without heeding Melissa’s remonstrance, he flung his
sky-blue mantle about him in fresh folds, and declaimed with comical
emphasis:
“Down to earth did the god cast his son: but with mightier hand
Through it, to Hades, Caesar flung his brother the dwarf.”
The versifier was rewarded by a shout of laughter, and, spurred by the
approval of his friends, he declared he had hit on the mode to which to
sing his lines, as he did in a fine, full voice.
But there was another poet, Mentor, also of the party, and as he
could not be happy under his rival’s triumph, he exclaimed: “The great
dyer--for you know he uses blood instead of the Tyrian shell--has
nothing of Father Zeus about him that I can see, but far more of the
great Alexander, whose mausoleum he is to visit to-morrow. And if you
would like to know wherein the son of Severus resembles the giant of
Macedon, you shall hear.”
He thrummed his thyrsus as though he struck the strings of a lyre, and,
having ended the dumb prelude, he sang:
“Wherein hath the knave Caracalla outdone Alexander?
He killed a brother, the hero a friend, in his rage.”
These lines, however, met with no applause; for they were not so lightly
improvised as the former distich, and it was clumsy and tasteless, as
well as dangerous thus to name, in connection with such a jest, the
potentate at whom it was aimed. And the fears of the jovial party were
only too well founded, for a tall, lean Egyptian suddenly stood among
the Greeks as if he had sprung from the earth. They were sobered at
once, and, like a swarm of pigeons on which a hawk swoops down, they
dispersed in all directions.
Melissa beckoned to her brother to follow her; but the Egyptian intruder
snatched the mantle, quick as lightning, from Alexander’s shoulders, and
ran off with it to the nearest pine-torch. The young man hurried after
the thief, as he supposed him to be, but there the spy flung the cloak
back to him, saying, in a tone of command, though not loud, for there
were still many persons among the graves:
“Hands off, son of Heron, unless you want me to call the watch! I have
seen your face by the light, and that is enough for this time. Now we
know each other, and we shall meet again in another place!”
With these words he vanished in the darkness, and Melissa asked, in
great alarm:
“In the name of all the gods, who was that?”
“Some rascally carpenter, or scribe, probably, who is in the service of
the night-watch as a spy. At least those sort of folks are often built
askew, as that scoundrel was,” replied Alexander, lightly. But he knew
the man only too well. It was Zminis, the chief of the spies to the
night patrol; a man who was particularly inimical to Heron, and whose
hatred included the son, by whom he had been befooled and misled in more
than one wild ploy with his boon companions. This spy, whose cruelty and
cunning were universally feared, might do him a serious mischief, and he
therefore did not tell his sister, to whom the name of Zminis was well
known, who the listener was.
He cut short all further questioning by desiring her to come at once to
the mortuary hall.
“And if we do not find him there,” she said, “let us go home at once; I
am so frightened.”
“Yes, yes,” said her brother, vaguely. “If only we could meet some one
you could join.”
“No, we will keep together,” replied Melissa, decisively; and simply
assenting, with a brief “All right,” the painter drew her arm through
his, and they made their way through the now thinning crowd.