Melissa, too, would probably have found herself a prisoner, but that
Zminis, seeing himself balked of a triumph, and beside himself with
rage, rushed after the fugitive with the rest. She had no further
occasion to seek the house where her lover was lying, for Agatha knew it
well. Its owner, Proterius, was an illustrious member of the Christian
community, and she had often been to see him with her father.
On their way the girls confided to each other what had brought them out
into the streets at so unusual an hour; and when Melissa spoke of
her companion’s extraordinary resemblance to the dead daughter of
Seleukus--which, no doubt, had been Alexander’s inducement to follow
her--Agatha told her that she had constantly been mistaken for her
uncle’s daughter, so early lost. She herself had not seen her cousin
for some few years, for Seleukus had quarreled with his brother’s family
when they had embraced Christianity. The third brother, Timotheus, the
high-priest of Serapis, had proved more placable, and his wife Euryale
was of all women the one she loved best. And presently it appeared that
Agatha, too, had lost her mother, and this drew the girls so closely
together, that they clasped hands and walked on like sisters or old and
dear friends.
They were not kept long waiting outside the house of Proterius, for
Andreas was in the vestibule arranging the litter for the conveyance of
Diodoros, with the willing help of Ptolemaeus. The freedman was indeed
amazed when he heard Melissa’s voice, and blamed her for this fresh
adventure. However, he was glad to see her, for, although it seemed
almost beyond the bounds of possibility, he had already fancied more
than once, as steps had approached and passed, that she must surely be
coming to lend him a helping hand.
It was easy to hear in his tone of voice that her bold venture was at
least as praiseworthy as it was blameworthy in his eyes, and the grave
man was as cheerful as he commonly was only when among his flowers.
Never before had Melissa heard a word of compliment from his lips, but
as Agatha stood with one arm round Melissa’s shoulders, he said to the
physician, as he pointed to the pair, “Like two roses on one stem!”
He had good reason, indeed, to be content. Diodoros was no worse, and
Galen was certainly expected to visit the sick in the Serapeum. He
regarded it, too, as a dispensation from Heaven that Agatha and Melissa
should have happened to meet, and Alexander’s happy escape had taken a
weight from his mind. He willingly acceded to Melissa’s request that he
would take her and Agatha to see the sick man; but he granted them only
a short time to gaze at the sleeper, and then requested the deaconess to
find a room for the two damsels, who needed rest.
The worthy woman rose at once; but Melissa urgently entreated to be
allowed to remain by her lover’s side, and glanced anxiously at the keys
in the matron’s hand.
At this Andreas whispered to her: “You are afraid lest I should prevent
your coming with us? But it is not so; and, indeed, of what use would it
be? You made your way past the guards to the senator’s coach; you came
across the lake, and through the darkness and the drunken rabble in the
streets; if I were to lock you in, you would be brave enough to jump
out of the window. No, no; I confess you have conquered my
objections--indeed, if you should now refuse your assistance, I should
be obliged to crave it. But Ptolemaeus wishes to leave Diodoros quite
undisturbed till daybreak. He is now gone to the Serapeum to find a good
place for him. You, too, need rest, and you shall be waked in good
time. Go, now, with Dame Katharine.--As to your relations,” he added, to
Agatha, “do not be uneasy. A boy is already on his way to your father,
to tell him where you are for the night.”
The deaconess led the two girls to a room where there was a large double
bed. Here the new friends stretched their weary limbs; but, tired as
they were, neither of them seemed disposed to sleep; they were so happy
to have found each other, and had so much to ask and tell each other!
As soon as Katharine had lighted a three-branched lamp she left them to
themselves, and then their talk began.
Agatha, clinging to her new friend, laid her head on Melissa’s shoulder;
and as Melissa looked on the beautiful face, and remembered the fond
passion which her heedless brother had conceived for its twin image, or
as now and again the Christian girl’s loving words appealed to her more
especially, she stroked the long, flowing tresses of her brown hair.
It needed, indeed, no more than a common feeling, an experience gone
through together, an hour of confidential solitude, to join the hearts
of the two maidens; and as they awaited the day, shoulder to shoulder
in uninterrupted chat, they felt as though they had shared every joy and
sorrow from the cradle. Agatha’s weaker nature found a support in the
calm strength of will which was evident in many things Melissa said; and
when the Christian opened her tender and pitying heart to Melissa with
touching candor, it was like a view into a new but most inviting world.
Agatha’s extreme beauty, too, struck the artist’s daughter as something
divine, and her eye often rested admiringly on her new friend’s pure and
regular features.
When Agatha inquired of her about her father, Melissa briefly replied,
that since her mother’s death he was often moody and rough, but that he
had a good, kind heart. The Christian girl, on the contrary, spoke with
enthusiasm of the warm, human loving-kindness of the man to whom she
owed her being; and the picture she drew of her home life was so fair,
that the little heathen could hardly believe in its truth. Her father,
Agatha said, lived in constant warfare with the misery and suffering of
his fellow-creatures, and he was, in fact, able to make those about him
happy and prosperous. The poorest were dearest to his loving heart, and
on his estate across the lake he had collected none but the sick and
wretched. The care of the children was left to her, and the little ones
clung to her as if she were their mother. She had neither brother nor
sister.--And so the conversation turned on Alexander, of whom Agatha
could never hear enough.
And how proud was Melissa to speak of the bright young artist, who till
now had been the sun of her joyless life! There was much that was good
to be said about him: for the best masters rated his talent highly in
spite of his youth; his comrades were faithful; and none knew so well as
he how to cheer his father’s dark moods. Then, there were many amiable
and generous traits of which she had been told, or had herself known.
With his very first savings, he had had the Genius with a reversed
torch cast in bronze to grace his mother’s grave, and give his father
pleasure. Once he had been brought home half dead after saving a woman
and child from drowning, and vainly endeavoring to rescue another child.
He might be wild and reckless, but he had always been faithful to his
art and to his love for his family.
Agatha’s eyes opened widely when Melissa told her anything good about
her brother, and she clung in terror to her new friend as she heard of
her excited orgy with her lover.
Scared as though some imminent horror threatened herself, she clasped
Melissa’s hand as she listened to the tale of the dangers Alexander had
so narrowly escaped.
Such things had never before reached the ears of the girl in her retired
Christian home beyond the lake; they sounded to her as the tales of some
bold seafarer to the peaceful husbandman on whose shores the storm has
wrecked him.
“And do you know,” she exclaimed, “all this seems delightful to me,
though my father, I am sure, would judge it hardly! When your brother
risks his life, it is always for others, and that is right--that is the
highest life. I think of him as an angel with a flaming sword. But you
do not know our sacred scriptures.”
Then Melissa would hear more of this book, of which Andreas had
frequently spoken; but there was a knock at the door, and she sprang out
of bed.
Agatha did the same; and when a slave-girl had brought in fresh, cold
water, she insisted on handing her friend the towels, on plaiting her
long hair, pinning her peplos in its place, and arranging its folds. She
had so often longed for a sister, and she felt as though she had found
one in Melissa! While she helped her to dress she kissed her preserver’s
sister on the eyes and lips, and entreated her with affectionate urgency
to come to see her, as soon as she had done all she could for her lover.
She must be made acquainted with her father, and Agatha longed to show
her her poor children, her dogs, and her pigeons. And she would go to
see Melissa, when she was staying with Polybius.
“And there,” Melissa put in, “you will see my brother, too.”
On which the Christian girl exclaimed: “You must bring him to our house.
My father will be glad to thank him--” Here she paused, and then added,
“Only he must not again risk his life so rashly.”
“He will be well hidden at the house of Polybius,” replied Melissa,
consolingly. “And Andreas has him fast by this time.”
She once more kissed Agatha, and went to the door, but her friend held
her back, and whispered “In my father’s grounds there is a famous hiding
place, where no one would ever find him. It has often been a refuge
for weeks and months for persecuted members of our faith. When he is
seriously threatened, bring him to us. We will gladly provide for his
safety, and all else. Only think, if they should catch him! It would be
for my sake, and I should never be happy again. Promise me that you will
bring him.”
“Yes, certainly,” cried Melissa, as she hurried out into the vestibule,
where Andreas and the leech were waiting for her.
They had done well to enlist the girl’s services, for, since nursing her
mother, she knew, as few did, how to handle the sick. It was not till
they had fairly set out that Melissa observed that Dame Katharine was
of the party; she had no doubt become reconciled to the idea of the sick
man’s removal to the Serapeum, for she had the same look of kindly calm
which had so much attracted the girl at their first meeting.
The streets along which they passed in the pale morning light were now
deserted, and a film of mist, behind which glowed the golden light of
the newly risen sun, shrouded the horizon. The fresh air of morning was
delicious, and at this early hour there was no one to avoid--only the
peasants and their wives carrying the produce of their gardens and
fields to market on asses, or wagons drawn by oxen. The black slaves
of the town were sweeping the roadway. Here there were parties of men,
women, and children on their way to work in factories, which were at
rest but for a few hours in the bustling town. The bakers and
other provision-dealers were opening their shops; the cobblers and
metalworkers were already busy or lighting fires in their open stalls;
and Andreas nodded to a file of slave-girls who had come across from
the farm and gardens of Polybius, and who now walked up the street with
large milk-jars and baskets of vegetables poised on their heads and
supported with one gracefully raised arm.
They presently crossed the Aspendia Canal, where the fog hung over the
water like white smoke, hiding the figure of the tutelary goddess of the
town on the parapet of the bridge from those who crossed by the roadway.
The leaves of the mimosa-trees by the quay--nay, the very stones of the
houses and the statues, wet with the morning dew--looked revived and
newly washed; and a light breeze brought up from the Serapeum broken
tones of the chant, sung there every morning by a choir of priests, to
hail the triumph of light over darkness.
The crisp morning air was as invigorating to Melissa as her cold bath
had been, after a night which had brought her so little rest. She felt
as though she, and all Nature with her, had just crossed the threshold
of a new day, bidding her to fresh life and labor. Now and then a flame
from Lucifer’s torch swallowed up a stretch of morning mist, while the
Hours escorted Phoebus Apollo, whose radiant diadem of beams was just
rising above the haze; Melissa could have declared she saw them dancing
forth before him and strewing the path of the sun with flowers. All
this was beautiful--as beautiful as the priest’s chant, the aromatic
sweetness of the air, and the works of art in cast bronze or hewn marble
which were to be seen on the bridge, on the temple to Isis and Anubis to
the right of the street, under the colonnades of the handsomest houses,
on the public fountains--in short, wherever the eye might turn. Her
lover, borne before her in a litter, was on the way to the physician in
whose hands lay the power to cure him. She felt as though Hope led the
way.
Since love had blossomed in her breast her quiet life had become an
eventful one. Most of what she had gone through had indeed filled her
with alarms. Serious questions to which she had never given a thought
had been brought before her; and yet, in this brief period of anxiety
she had gained the precious sense of youthfulness and of capacity
for action when she had to depend on herself. The last few hours had
revealed to her the possession of powers which only yesterday she had
never suspected. She, who had willingly yielded to every caprice of her
father’s, and who, for love of her brothers, had always unresistingly
done their bidding, now knew that she had a will of her own and strength
enough to assert it; and this, again, added to her contentment this
morning.
Alexander had told her, and old Dido, and Diodoros, that she was fair to
look upon--but these all saw her with the eyes of affection; so she had
always believed that she was a well-looking girl enough, but by no means
highly gifted in any respect--a girl whose future would be to bloom
and fade unknown in her father’s service. But now she knew that she was
indeed beautiful; not only because she had heard it repeatedly in
the crowd of yesterday, or even because Agatha had declared it while
braiding her hair--an inward voice affirmed it, and for her lover’s sake
she was happy to believe it.
As a rule, she would have been ready to drop with fatigue after so many
sleepless hours and such severe exertions; but to-day she felt as fresh
as the birds in the trees by the roadside, which greeted the sun with
cheerful twitterings.
“Yes, the world is indeed fair!” thought she; but at that very moment
Andreas’s grave voice was heard ordering the bearers to turn down a dark
side alley which led into the street of Hermes, a few hundred paces from
the Rhakotis Canal.
How anxious the good man looked! Her world was not the world of the
Christian freedman; that she plainly understood when the litter in which
Diodoros lay was carried into one of the houses in the side street.
It was a large, plain building, with only a few windows, and those
high up-in fact, as Melissa was presently informed, it was a Christian
church. Before she could express her surprise, Andreas begged her to
have a few minutes’ patience; the daemons of sickness were here to be
exorcised and driven out of the sufferer. He pointed to a seat in the
vestibule to the church, a wide but shallow room. Then, at a sign from
Andreas, the slaves carried the litter into a long, low hall with a flat
roof.
From where she sat, Melissa could now see that a Christian in priest’s
robes, whom they called the exorcist, spoke various invocations over
the sick man, the others listening so attentively that even she began to
hope for some good effect from these incomprehensible formulas; and
at the same time she remembered that her old slave-woman Dido, who
worshiped many gods, wore round her neck, besides a variety of heathen
amulets, a little cross which had been given her by a Christian woman.
To her question why she, a heathen, wore this about her, the old woman
replied, “You can never tell what may help you some day.” So perhaps
these exorcisms might not be without some effect on her lover,
particularly as the God of the Christians must be powerful and good.
She herself strove to uplift her soul in prayer to the manes of her lost
mother; but the scene going on around her in the vestibule distracted
her mind with horror. Men, young and old, were slashing themselves with
vehement scourgings on their backs. One white-haired old man, indeed,
handed his whip of hippopotamus-hide to a stalwart lad whose shoulders
were streaming with blood, and begged him as a brother, as fervently
as though it were the greatest favor, to let him feel the lash. But the
younger man refused, and she saw the weak old fellow trying to apply it
to his own back.
All this was quite beyond her comprehension, and struck her as,
disgusting; and how haggard and hideous were the limbs of these people
who thus sinned against their own bodies--the noble temples of the
Divine Spirit!
When, a few minutes later, the litter was borne out of the church
again, the sun had triumphed over the mists and was rising with blinding
splendor in the cloudless sky. Everything was bathed in light; but the
dreadful sight of the penitents had cast a gloom over the clear gladness
she had been so full of but just now. It was with a sense of oppression
that she took leave of the deaconess, who left her with cheerful
contentment in the street of Hermes, and followed the litter to the open
square in front of the Serapeum.
Here every thought of gloom vanished from her mind as at the touch of a
magician, for before her stood the vast Temple of Serapis, founded,
as it were, for eternity, on a substructure of rock and closely fitted
masonry, the noblest building on earth of any dedicated to the gods.
The great cupola rose to the blue sky as though it fain would greet the
sister vault above with its own splendor, and the copper-plating which
covered it shone as dazzling as a second sun. From the wide front of the
temple, every being to whom the prayers and worship of mortals could be
offered looked down on her, hewn in marble or cast in bronze; for on
the roof, on brackets or on pedestals; in niches or as supporting the
parapets and balconies, were statues of all the guests at the Olympian
banquet, with images or busts of every hero or king, philosopher, poet,
or artist whose deeds or works had earned him immortality.
From infancy Melissa had looked up at this temple with admiration
and pride, for here every art had done its utmost to make it without
parallel on earth. It was the work of her beloved native city, and her
mother had often taken her into the Serapeum, where she herself had
found comfort in many a sorrow and disappointment, and had taught the
child to love it. That it had afterward been spoiled for her she forgot
in her present mood.
Never had she seen the great temple surrounded by so much gay and busy
life. The front of the building, toward the square, had in the early
hours of the morning been decked with garlands and heavy wreaths of
flowers, by a swarm of slaves standing on ladders and planks and benches
let down from the roof by ropes. The inclined ways, by which vehicles
drove up to the great door, were still deserted, and on the broad steps
in the middle no one was to be seen as yet but a few priests in gala
robes, and court officials; but the immense open space in front of the
sanctuary was one great camp, where, among the hastily pitched canvas
tents, horses were being dressed and weapons polished. Several maniples
of the praetorians and of the Macedonian phalanx were already drawn
up in compact ranks, to relieve guard at the gate of the imperial
residence, and stand at Caesar’s orders.
But more attractive to the girl than all this display were a number of
altars which had been erected at the extreme edge of the great square,
and on each of which a fire was burning. Heavy clouds of smoke went up
from them in the still, pure atmosphere, like aerial columns, while the
flames, paling in the beams of the morning sun, flew up through the reek
as though striving to rise above it, with wan and changeful gleams of
red and yellow, now curling down, and now writhing upward like snakes.
Of all these fires there was not one from which the smoke did not mount
straight to heaven, though each burned to a different god; and Melissa
regarded it as a happy sign that none spread or failed to rise. The
embers were stirred from time to time by the priests and augurs of every
god of the East and West, who also superintended the sacrifices, while
warriors of every province of the empire stood round in prayer.
Melissa passed by all these unwonted and soul-stirring sights without a
regret; her hope for the cure soon to be wrought on her lover cast all
else into the shade. Still, while she looked around at the thousands who
were encamped here, and gazed up at the temple where so many men were
busied, like ants, it struck her that in fact all this belonged to
one and was done for one alone. Those legions followed him as the dust
follows the wind, the whole world trembled at his nod, and in his hand
lay the life and happiness of the millions he governed. And it was at
this omnipotent being, this god in human form, that her brother had
mocked; and the pursuers were at his heels. This recollection troubled
her joy, and when she looked in the freedman’s grave and anxious face
her heart began to beat heavily again.