The slave Argutis was waiting for Melissa in the antechamber. It was
evident that he brought good news, for he beamed with joy as she came
toward him; and before she left the house she knew that her father and
Philip had returned and had regained their freedom.
The slave had not allowed these joyful tidings to reach his beloved
mistress’s ear, that he might have the undivided pleasure of bringing
them himself, and the delight she expressed was fully as great as he had
anticipated. Melissa even hurried back to Johanna to impart to her the
joyful intelligence that she might tell it to her mistress.
When they were in the street the slave told her that, at break of
day, the ship had cast anchor which brought back father and son. The
prisoners had received their freedom while they were still at sea, and
had been permitted to return home at once. All was well, only--he added,
hesitatingly and with tears in his eyes--things were not as they used to
be, and now the old were stronger than the young. Her father had taken
no harm from the heavy work at the oars, but Philip had returned
from the galleys very ill, and they had carried him forthwith to the
bedchamber, where Dido was now nursing him. It was a good thing that she
had not been there to hear how the master had stormed and cursed over
the infamy they had had to endure; but the meeting with his birds had
calmed him down quickly enough.
Melissa and her attendant were walking in the direction of the Serapeum,
but now she declared that she must first see the liberated prisoners.
And she insisted upon it, although Argutis assured her of her father’s
intention of seeking her at the house of the high-priest, as soon as
he had removed all traces of his captivity and his shameful work at the
galleys in the bath. Philip she would, of course, find at home, he
being too weak to leave the house. The old man had some difficulty in
following his young mistress, and she soon stepped lightly over the
“Welcome” on the threshold of her father’s house. Never had the red
mosaic inscription seemed to shine so bright and friendly, and she heard
her name called in delighted tones from the kitchen.
This joyful greeting from Dido was not to be returned from the door
only. In a moment Melissa was standing by the hearth; but the slave,
speechless with happiness, could only point with fork and spoon, first
to the pot in which a large piece of meat was being boiled down into
a strengthening soup for Philip, then to a spit on which two young
chickens were browning before the fire, and then to the pan where she
was frying the little fish of which the returned wanderer was so fond.
But the old woman’s struggle between the duty that kept her near the
fire and the love that drew her away from it was not of long duration.
In a few minutes Melissa, her hands clasping the slave’s withered arm,
was listening to the tender words of welcome that Dido had ready for
her. The slave woman declared that she scarcely dared to let her eyes
rest upon her mistress, much less touch her with the fingers that had
just been cleaning fish; for the girl was dressed as grandly as the
daughter of the high-priest. Melissa laughed at this; but the slave went
on to say that they had not been able to detain her master. His longing
to see his daughter and the desire to speak with Caesar had driven him
out of the house, and Alexander had, of course, accompanied him. Only
Philip, poor, crushed worm, was at home, and the sight of her would put
more strength into him than the strong soup and the old wine which his
father had fetched for him from the store-room, although he generally
reserved it for libations on her mother’s grave.
Melissa soon stood beside her brother’s couch, and the sight of him cast
a dark shadow over the brightness of this happy morn. As he recognized
her, a fleeting smile crossed the pale, spiritualized face, which seemed
to her to have grown ten years older in this short time; but it vanished
as quickly as it had come. Then the great eyes gazed blankly again from
the shadows that surrounded them, and a spasm of pain quivered from
time to time round the thin, tightly closed lips. Melissa could hardly
restrain her tears. Was this what he had been brought to-the youth who
only a few days ago had made them all feel conscious of the superiority
of his brilliant mind!
Her warm heart made her feel more lovingly toward her sick brother than
she had ever done when he was in health, and surely he was conscious of
the tenderness with which she strove to comfort him.
The unaccustomed, hard, and degrading work at the oars, she assured him,
would have worn out a stronger man than he; but he would soon be able to
visit the Museum again and argue as bravely as ever. With this, she bent
over him to kiss his brow, but he raised himself a little, and said,
with a contemptuous smile:
“Apathy--ataraxy--complete indifference--is the highest aim after which
the soul of the skeptic strives. That at least”--and here his eyes
flashed for a moment--“I have attained to in these cursed days. That
a thinking being could become so utterly callous to
everything--everything, be it what it may--even I could never have
believed!” He sank into silence, but his sister urged him to take
courage--surely many a glad day was before him yet.
At this he raised himself more energetically, and exclaimed:
“Glad days?--for me, and with you? That you should still be of such good
cheer would please or else astonish me if I were still capable of those
sentiments. If things were different, I should ask you now, what have
you given the imperial bloodhound in return for our freedom?”
Here Melissa exclaimed indignantly, but he continued unabashed:
“Alexander says you have found favor with our imperial master. He calls,
and you come. Naturally, it is for him to command. See how much can be
made of the child of a gem-cutter! But what says handsome Diodoros to
all this?--Why turn so pale? These, truly, are questions which I would
fling in your face were things as they used to be. Now I say in all
unconcern, do what you will!”
The blood had ebbed from Melissa’s cheeks during this attack of her
brother’s. His injurious and false accusations roused her indignation to
the utmost, but one glance at his weary, suffering face showed her
how great was the pain he endured, and in her compassionate heart
pity strove against righteous anger. The struggle was sharp, but pity
prevailed; and, instead of punishing him by a sharp retort, she forced
herself to explain to him in a few gentle words what had happened, in
order to dispel the unworthy suspicion that must surely hurt him as much
as it did her. She felt convinced that the sufferer would be cheered by
her words; but he made no attempt to show that he appreciated her kindly
moderation, nor to express any satisfaction. On the contrary, when he
spoke it was in the same tone as before.
“If that be the case,” he said, “so much the better; but were it
otherwise, it would have to be endured just the same. I can think of
nothing that could affect me now, and it is well. Only my body troubles
me still. It weighs upon me like lead, and grows heavier with every word
I utter. Therefore, I pray you, leave me to myself!”
But his sister would not obey. “No, Philip,” she cried, eagerly, “this
may not be. Let your strong spirit arise and burst asunder the bonds
that fetter and cripple it.”
At this a groan of pain escaped the philosopher, and, turning again to
the girl, he answered, with a mournful smile:
“Bid the cushion in that arm-chair do so. It will succeed better than
I!” Then crying out impatiently and as loudly as he could, “Now go--you
know not how you torture me!” he turned away from her and buried his
face in the pillows.
But Melissa, as if beside herself, laid her hands upon his shoulder,
and, shaking him gently, exclaimed: “And even if it vexes you, I will
not be driven away thus. The misfortunes that have befallen you in these
days will end by destroying you, if you will not pull yourself together.
We must have patience, and it can only come about slowly, but you must
make an effort. The least thing that pains you hurts us too, and you,
in return, may not remain indifferent to what we feel. See, Philip, our
mother and Andrew taught us often not to think only of ourselves, but of
others. We ask so little of you; but if you--”
At this the philosopher shook himself free of her hand, and cried in a
voice of anguish:
“Away, I say! Leave me alone! One word more, and I die!” With this
he hid his head in the coverlet, and Melissa could see how his limbs
quivered convulsively as if shaken by an ague.
To see a being so dear to her thus utterly broken down cut her to the
heart. Oh, that she could help him! If she did not succeed, or if he
never found strength to rouse himself, he, too, would be one of Caesar’s
victims. Corrupted and ruined lives marked the path of this terrible
being, and, with a shudder, she asked herself when her turn would come.
Her hair had become disordered, and as she smoothed it she looked in the
mirror, and could not but observe that in the simple but costly white
robe of the dead Korinna she looked like a maiden of noble birth rather
than the lowly daughter of an artist. She would have liked to tear it
off and replace it by another, but her one modest festival robe had
been left behind at the house of the lady Berenike. To appear in broad
daylight before the neighbors or to walk in the streets clad in this
fashion seemed to her impossible after her brother’s unjust suspicion,
and she bade Argutis fetch her a litter.
When they parted, Dido could see distinctly that Philip had wounded her.
And she could guess how, so she withheld any questions, that she might
not hurt her. Over the fire, however, she stabbed fiercely into the
fowl destined for the philosopher, but cooked it, nevertheless, with all
possible care.
On the way to the Serapeum, Melissa’s anxiety increased. Till now,
eagerness for the fray, fear, hope, and the joyful consciousness of
right-doing, had alternated in her mind. Now, for the first time, she
was seized with a premonition of misfortune. Fate itself had turned
against her. Even should she succeed in escaping, she could not hope to
regain her lost peace of mind.
Philip’s biting words had shown her what most of them must think of
her; and, though the ship should bear her far away, would it be right to
bring Diodoros away from his old father to follow her? She must see her
lover, and if possible tell him all. The rose, too, which the Christian
had given her for him, and which lay in her lap, she wished so much
to carry to him herself. She could not go alone to the chamber of the
convalescent, and the attendance of a slave counted for nothing in
the eyes of other people. It was even doubtful if a bondsman might be
admitted into the inner apartments of the sanctuary. However, she would,
she must see Diodoros and speak to him; and thus planning ways and means
by which to accomplish this, looking forward joyfully to the meeting
with her father, and wondering how Agatha, the Christian, had received
Alexander, she lost the feeling of deep depression which had weighed on
her when she had left the house.
The litter stopped, and Argutis helped her to descend. He was
breathless, for it had been most difficult to open a way for her through
the dense crowds that were already thronging to the Circus, where the
grand evening performance in honor of the emperor was to begin as
soon as it was dark. Just as she was entering the house, she perceived
Andreas coming toward them along the street of Hermes, and she at once
bade the slave call him. He was soon at her side, and declared himself
willing to accompany her to Diodoros.
This time, however, she did not find her lover alone in the sick-room.
Two physicians were with him, and she grew pale as she recognized in one
of them the emperor’s Roman body-physician.
But it was too late too escape detection; so she only hastened to her
lover’s side, whispered warm words of love in his ear, and, while she
gave him the rose, conjured him ever and always to have faith in her and
in her love, whatever reports he might hear.
Diodoros was up and had fully recovered. His face lighted up with joy
as he saw her; but, when she repeated the old, disquieting request, he
anxiously begged to know what she meant by it. She assured him, however,
that she had already delayed too long, and referred him to Andreas and
the lady Euryale, who would relate to him what had befallen her and
spoiled every happy hour she had. Then, thinking herself unobserved by
those present, she breathed a kiss upon his lips. But he would not let
her go, urging with passionate tenderness his rights as her betrothed,
till she tore herself away from him and hurried from the room.
As she left, she heard a ringing laugh, followed by loud, sprightly
talking. It was not her lover’s voice, and endeavoring, while she waited
for Andreas, to catch what was being said on the other side of the door,
she distinctly heard the body-physician (for no other pronounced the
Greek language in that curious, halting manner) exclaim, gayly: “By
Cerberus, young man, you are to be envied! The beauty my sovereign lord
is limping after flies unbidden into your arms!”
Then came loud laughter as before, but this time interrupted by
Diodoros’s indignant question as to what this all meant. At last
Melissa heard Andreas’s deep voice promising the young man to tell him
everything later on; and when the convalescent impatiently asked for
an immediate explanation, the Christian exhorted him to be calm,
and finally requested the physician to grant him a few moments’
conversation.
Then there was quiet for a time in the room, only broken by Diodoros’s
angry questions and the pacifying exclamations of the freedman. She felt
as if she must return to her lover and tell him herself what she had
been forced to do in these last days, but maidenly shyness restrained
her, till at last Andreas came out. The freedman’s honest face expressed
the deepest solicitude, and his voice sounded rough and hasty as he
exclaimed, “You must fly--fly this day!”
“And my father and brother, and Diodoros?” she asked, anxiously.
But he answered, urgently: “Let them get away as they may. There is
no hole or corner obscure enough to keep you hidden. Therefore take
advantage of the ship that waits for you. Follow Argutis at once to the
lady Berenike. I can not accompany you, for it lies with me to occupy
for the next few hours the attention of the body-physician, from whom
you have the most to fear. He has consented to go with me to my garden
across the water. There I promised him a delicious, real Alexandrian
feast, and you know how gladly Polybius will seize the opportunity to
share it with him. No doubt, too, some golden means may be found to bind
his tongue; for woe to you if Caracalla discovers prematurely that you
are promised to another, and woe then to your betrothed! After sundown,
when every one here has gone to the Circus, I will take Diodoros to a
place of safety. Farewell, child, and may our heavenly Father defend
you!”
He laid his right hand upon her head as if in blessing; but Melissa
cried, wringing her hands: “Oh, let me go to him once more! How can
I leave him and go far away without one word of farewell or of
forgiveness?”
But Andreas interrupted her, saying: “You can not. His life is at stake
as well as your own. I shall make it my business to look after his
safety. The wife of Seleukus will assist you in your flight.”
“And you will persuade him to trust me?” urged Melissa, clinging
convulsively to his arm.
“I will try,” answered the freedman, gloomily. Melissa, dropped his arm,
for loud, manly voices were approaching down the stairs near which they
stood.
It was Heron and Alexander, returning from their audience with the
emperor. Instantly the Christian went to meet them, and dismissed the
temple servant who accompanied them.
In the half-darkness of the corridor, Melissa threw herself weeping into
her father’s arms. But he stroked her hair lovingly, and kissed her
more tenderly on brow and eyes than he had ever clone before, whispering
gayly to her: “Dry your tears, my darling. You have been a brave maiden,
and now comes your reward. Fear and sorrow will now be changed into
happiness and power, and all the glories of the world. I have not even
told Alexander yet what promises to make our fortunes, for I know my
duty.” Then, raising his voice, he said to the freedman, “If I have
been rightly informed, we shall find the son of Polybius in one of the
apartments close at hand.”
“Quite right,” answered the freedman, gravely, and then went on to
explain to the gem-cutter that he could not see Diodoros just now, but
must instantly leave the country with his son and daughter on Berenike’s
ship. Not a moment was to be lost. Melissa would tell him all on the
way.
But Heron laughed scornfully: “That would be a pretty business! We have
plenty of time, and, with the greatness that lies before us, everything
must be done openly and in the right way. My first thought, you see, was
to come here, for I had promised the girl to Diodoros, and he must be
informed before I can consent to her betrothal to another.”
“Father!” cried Melissa, scarcely able to command her voice. But Heron
took no notice of her, and continued, composedly: “Diodoros would have
been dear to me as a son-in-law. I shall certainly tell him so. But when
Caesar, the ruler of the world, condescends to ask a plain man for
his daughter, every other consideration must naturally be put aside.
Diodoros is sensible, and is sure to see it in the right light. We all
know how Caesar treats those who are in his way; but I wish the son
of Polybius no ill, so I forbore to betray to Caesar what tie had once
bound you, my child, to the gallant youth.”
Heron had never liked the freedman. The man’s firm character had always
gone against the gemcutter’s surly, capricious nature; and it was no
little satisfaction to him to let him feel his superiority, and boast
before him of the apparent good luck that had befallen the artist’s
family.
But Andreas had already heard from the physician that Caracalla
had informed his mother’s envoys of his intended marriage with an
Alexandrian, the daughter of an artist of Macedonian extraction. This
could only refer to Melissa, and it was this news which had caused him
to urge the maiden to instant flight.
Pale, incapable of uttering a word, Melissa stood before her father; but
the freedman grasped her hand, looked Heron reproachfully in the face,
and asked, quietly, “And you would really have the heart to join this
dear child’s life to that of a bloody tyrant?”
“Certainly I have,” returned Heron with decision, and he drew his
daughter’s hand out of that of Andreas, who turned his back upon the
artist with a meaning shrug of the shoulders. But Melissa ran after him,
and, clinging to him, cried as she turned first to him and then to her
father:
“I am promised to Diodoros, and shall hold fast to him and my love; tell
him that, Andreas! Come what may, I will be his and his alone! Caesar--”
“Swear not!” broke in Heron, angrily, “for by great Serapis--”
But Alexander interposed between them, and begged his father to consider
what he was asking of the girl. Caesar’s proposals could scarcely
have been very pleasing to him, or why had he concealed till now what
Caracalla was whispering to him in the adjoining room? He might imagine
for himself what fate awaited the helpless child at the side of a
husband at whose name even men trembled. He should remember her mother,
and what she would have said to such a union. There was little, time to
escape from this terrible wooer.
Then Melissa turned to her brother and begged him earnestly: “Then you
take me to the ship Alexander; take charge of me yourself!”
“And I?” asked Heron, his eye cast gloomily on the ground.
“You must come with us!” implored the girl, clasping her hands.--“O
Andreas! say something! Tell him what I have to expect!”
“He knows that without my telling him,” replied the freedman. “I must go
now, for two lives are at stake, Heron. If I can not keep the physician
away from Caesar, your daughter, too, will be in danger. If you desire
to see your daughter forever in fear of death, give her in marriage to
Caracalla. If you have her happiness at heart, then escape with her into
a far country.”
He nodded to the brother and sister, and returned to the sick-room.
“Fly!--escape!” repeated the old man, and he waived his hand angrily.
“This Andreas--the freedman, the Christian--always in extremes. Why run
one’s head against the wall? First consider, then act; that was what she
taught us whose sacred memory you have but now invoked, Alexander.”
With this he walked out of the half-dark corridor into the open
court-yard, in front of his children. Here he looked at his daughter,
who was breathing fast, and evidently prepared to resist to the last.
And as he beheld her in Korinna’s white and costly robes, like a noble
priestess, it occurred to him that even before his captivity she had
ceased to be the humble, unquestioning instrument of his capricious
temper. Into what a haughty beauty the quiet embroideress had been
transformed!
By all the gods! Caracalla had no cause to be ashamed of such an
empress.
And, unaccustomed as he was to keep back anything whatever from his
children, he began to express these sentiments. But he did not get far,
for the hour for the morning meal being just over, the court-yard began
to fill from all sides with officials and servants of the temple.
So, father and son silently followed the maiden through the crowded
galleries and apartments, into the house of the highpriest.
Here they were received by Philostratus, who hardly gave Melissa time to
greet the lady Euryale before he informed her, but with unwonted hurry
and excitement, that the emperor was awaiting her with impatience.
The philosopher motioned to her to follow him, but she clung, as
if seeking help, to her brother, and cried: “I will not go again to
Caracalla! You are the kindest and best of them all, Philostratus, and
you will understand me. Evil will come of it if I follow you--I can not
go again to Caesar.”
But it was impossible for the courtier to yield to her, in the face
of his monarch’s direct commands; therefore, hard as it was to him, he
said, resolutely: “I well understand what holds you back; still, if you
would not ruin yourself and your family, you must submit. Besides
which, you know not what Caesar is about to offer you-fortunate, unhappy
child!”
“I know--oh, I know it!” sobbed Melissa; “but it is just that... I have
served the emperor willingly, but before I consent become the wife of
such a monster--”
“She is right,” broke in Euryale, and drew Melissa toward her. But the
philosopher took the girl’s hand and said, kindly:--“You must come
with me now, my child, and pretend that you know nothing of Caesar’s
intentions toward you. It is the only way to save you. But while you are
with the emperor, who, in any case, can devote but a short time to you
to-day, I will return here and consult with your people. There is much
to be decided, of the greatest moment, and not to you alone.” Melissa
turned with tearful eyes to Euryale, and questioned her with a look;
whereupon the lady drew the girl’s hand out of that of the philosopher,
and saying to him, “She shall be with you directly,” took her away to
her own apartment.
Here she begged Melissa to dry her eyes, and arranging the girl’s hair
and robe with her own hands, she promised to do all in her power to
facilitate her flight. She must do her part now by going into Caesar’s
presence as frankly as she had done yesterday and the day before. She
might be quite easy; her interests were being faithfully watched over.
Taking a short leave of her father, who was looking very sulky because
nobody seemed to care for his opinion, and of Alexander, who lovingly
promised her his help, she took the philosopher’s hand and walked
with him through one crowded apartment after another. They often had
difficulty in pressing through the throng of people who were waiting for
an audience, and in the antechamber, where the Aurelians had had to pay
so bitterly for their insolence yesterday, they were detained by the
blonde and red-Haired giants of the Uermanian body-guard, whose leader,
Sabinus, a Thracian of exceptional height and strength, was acquainted
with the philosopher.
Caracalla had given orders that no one was to be admitted till the
negotiations with the Parthian ambassadors, which had begun an hour ago,
were brought to a conclusion. Philostratus well knew that the emperor
would interrupt the most important business if Melissa were announced,
but there was much that he would have the maiden lay to heart before
he led her to the monarch; while she wished for nothing so earnestly as
that the door which separated her from her terrible wooer might remain
closed to the end of time. When the chamberlain Adventus looked out from
the imperial apartments, she begged him to give her a little time before
announcing her.
The old man blinked consent with his dim eyes, but the philosopher took
care that Melissa should not be left to herself and the terrors of
her heart. He employed all the eloquence at his command to make her
comprehend what it meant to be an empress and the consort of the ruler
of the world. In flaming colors he painted to her the good she might do
in such a position, and the tears she might wipe away. Then he reminded
her of the healing and soothing influence she had over Caracalla, and
that this influence came doubtless from the gods, since it passed the
bounds of nature and acted so beneficently. No one might reject such a
gift from the immortals merely to gratify an ordinary passion. The youth
whose love she must give up would be able to comfort himself with the
thought that many others had had much worse to bear, and he would find
no difficulty in getting a substitute, though not so beautiful a one.
On the other hand, she was the only one among millions whose heart,
obedient to a heaven-sent impulse, had turned in pity toward Caracalla.
If she fled, she would deprive the emperor of the only being on whose
love he felt he had some claim. If she listened to the wooing of her
noble lover, she would be able to tame this ungovernable being and
soothe his fury, and would gain in return for a sacrifice such as many
had made before her, the blissful consciousness of having rendered an
inestimable service to the whole world. For by her means and her love,
the imperial tyrant would be transformed into a beneficent ruler. The
blessing of the thousands whom she could protect and save would make the
hardest task sweet and endurable.
Here Philostratus paused, and gazed inquiringly at her; but she only
shook her head gently, and answered:
“My brain is so confused that I can scarcely hear even, but I feel
that your words are well meant and wise. What you put before me would
certainly be worth considering if there were anything left for me to
consider about. I have promised myself to another, who is more to me
than all the world--more than the gratitude and blessings of endangered
lives of which I know nothing. I am but a poor girl who only asks to be
happy. Neither gods nor men expect more of me than that I should do my
duty toward those whom I love. And, then, who can say for certain that
I should succeed in persuading Caesar to carry out my desires, whatever
they might be?”
“We were witnesses of the power you exercised over him,” replied the
philosopher; but Melissa shook her head, and continued eagerly: “No, no!
he only values in me the hand that eases his pain and want of sleep. The
love which he may feel for me makes him neither gentler nor better. Only
an hour or two before he declared that his heart was inclined to me, he
had Titianus murdered!”
“One word from you,” the philosopher assured her, “and it would never
have happened. As empress, they will obey you as much as him. Truly,
child, it is no small thing to sit, like the gods, far above the rest of
mankind.”
“No, no!” cried Melissa, shuddering. “Those heights! Only to think of
them makes everything spin round me. Only one who is free from such
giddiness dare to occupy such a place. Every one must desire to do what
he can do best. I could be a good housewife to Diodoros, but I should
be a bad empress. I was not born to greatness. And, besides--what is
happiness? I only felt happy when I did what was my duty, in peace and
quiet. Were I empress, fear would never leave me for a moment. Oh. I
know enough of the hideous terror which this awful being creates around
him; and before I would consent to let it torture me to death by day and
by night-morning, noon, and evening--far rather would I die this very
day. Therefore, I have no choice. I must flee from Caesar’s sight--away
hence--far, far, away!”
Tears nearly choked her voice, but she struggled bravely against them.
Philostratus, however, did not fail to observe it, and gazed, first
mournfully into her face and then thoughtfully on the ground. At length
he spoke with a slight sigh:
“We gather experience in life, and yet, however old we may be, we act
contrary to it. Now I have to pay for it. And yet it still lies in your
hands to make me bless the day on which I spoke on your behalf. Could
you but succeed in rising to real greatness of soul, girl--through you,
I swear it, the subjects of this mighty kingdom would be saved from
great tribulations!”
“But, my lord,” Melissa broke in, “who would ask such lofty things of
a lowly maiden? My mother taught me to be kind and helpful to others in
the house, to my friends, and fellow-citizens; my own heart tells me to
be faithful to my betrothed. But I care not greatly for the Romans, and
what to me are Gauls, Dacians, or whatever else these barbarians may be
called?”
“And yet,” said Philostratus, “you offered a sacrifice for the foreign
tyrant.”
“Because his pain excited my compassion,” rejoined Melissa, blushing.
“And would you have done the same for any masterless black slave,
covered with pitiably deep wounds?” asked the philosopher.
“No,” she answered, quickly; “him I would have helped with my own
hand. When I can do without their aid, I do not appeal to the gods.
And then--I said before, his trouble seemed doubly great because it
contrasted so sharply with all the splendor and joy that surrounded
him.”
“Aye,” said the philosopher, earnestly, “and a small thing that affects
the ruler recoils tenfold--a thousand-fold-on his subjects. Look at one
tree through a cut glass with many facets, and it be comes a forest.
Thus the merest trifle, when it affects the emperor, becomes important
for the millions over whom he rules. Caracalla’s vexation entails evil
on thousands--his anger is death and ruin. I fear me, girl, your flight
will bring down heavy misfortune on those who surround Caesar, and first
of all upon the Alexandrians, to whom you belong, and against whom he
already bears a grudge. You once said your native city was dear to you.”
“So it is,” returned Melissa, who, at his last words had grown first
red and then pale; “but Caesar can not surely be so narrow-minded as to
punish a whole great city for what the poor daughter of a gem-cutter has
done.”
“You are thinking of my Achilles,” answered the philosopher. “But I only
transferred what I saw of good in Caracalla to the figure of my hero.
Besides, you know that Caesar is not himself when he is in wrath. Has
not experience taught me that no reasons are strong enough to convince a
loving woman’s heart? Once more I entreat you, stay here! Reject not the
splendid gift which the gods offer you, that trouble may not come upon
your city as it did on hapless Troy, all for a woman’s sake.
“What says the proverb? ‘Zeus hearkens not to lovers’ vows’; but I say
that to renounce love in order to make others happy, is greater and
harder than to hold fast to it when it is menaced.”
These words reminded her of many a lesson of Andreas, and went to her
heart. In her mind’s eye she saw Caracalla, after hearing of her flight,
set his lions on Philostratus, and then, foaming with rage, give orders
to drag her father and brothers, Polybius and his son, to the place of
execution, like Titianus. And Philostratus perceived what was going on
in her mind, and with the exhortation, “Remember how many persons’ weal
or woe lies in your hands!” he rose and began a conversation with the
Thracian commander of the Germanic guard.
Melissa remained alone upon the divan. The picture changed before her,
and she saw herself in costly purple raiment, glittering with jewels,
and seated by the emperor’s side in a golden chariot. A thousand voices
shouted to her, and beside her stood a horn of plenty, running over with
golden solidi and crimson roses, and it never grew empty, however much
she took from it. Her heart was moved; and when, in the crowd which her
lively imagination had conjured up before her, she caught sight of
the wife of the blacksmith Herophilus, who had been thrown into prison
through an accusation from Zminis, she turned to Caracalla whom she
still imagined seated beside her, and cried, “Pardon!” and Caracalla
nodded a gracious consent, and the next moment Herophilus’s wife lay on
her liberated husband’s breast, while the broken fetters still clanked
upon his wrists. Their children were there, too, and stretched up their
arms to their parents, offering their happy lips first to them and then
to Melissa.
How beautiful it all was, and how it cheered her compassionate heart!
And this, said the newly awakened, meditative spirit within her, need
be no dream; no, it lay in her power to impart this happiness to herself
and many others, day by day, until the end.
Then she felt that she must arise and cry to her friend, “I will follow
your counsel and remain!” But her imagination had already begun to work
again, and showed her the widow of Titianus, as she entreated Caesar to
spare her noble, innocent husband, while he mercilessly repulsed her.
And it flashed through her mind that her petitions might share the same
fate, when at that moment the emperor’s threatening voice sounded from
the adjoining room.
How hateful its strident tones were to her ear! She dropped her eyes and
caught sight of a dark stain on the snow-white plumage of the doves in
the mosaic pavement at her feet.
That was a last trace of the blood of the young tribune, which the
attendants had been unable to remove. And this indelible mark of the
crime which she had witnessed brought the image of the wounded Aurelius
before her: just as he now lay, shaken with fever, so had she seen her
lover a few days before. His pale face rose before her inward sight;
would it not be to him a worse blow than that from the stone, when he
should learn that she had broken her faith to him in order to gain power
and greatness, and to protect others, who were strangers to her, from
the fury of the tyrant?
His heart had been hers from childhood’s hour, and it would bleed and
break if she were false to the vows in which he placed his faith. And
even if he succeeded at last in recovering from the wound she must deal
him, his peace and happiness would be destroyed for many a long day. How
could she have doubted for a moment where her real duty lay?
If she followed Philostratus’s advice--if she acceded to Caracalla’s
wishes--Diodoros would have every right to condemn and curse her. And
could she then feel so entirely blameless? A voice within her instantly
said no; for there had been moments in which her pity had grown so
strong that she felt more warmly toward the sick Caesar than was
justifiable. She could not deny it, for she could not without a
blush have described to her lover what she felt when that mysterious,
inexplicable power had drawn her to the emperor.
And now the conviction rapidly grew strong in her that she must not only
preserve her lover from further trouble, but strive to make good to him
her past errors. The idea of renouncing her love in order to intercede
for others, most likely in vain, and lighten their lot by sacrificing
herself for strangers, while rendering her own and her lover’s life
miserable, now seemed to her unnatural, criminal, impossible; and with a
sigh of relief she remembered her promise to Andreas. Now she could once
more look freely into the grave and earnest face of him who had ever
guided her in the right way.
This alone was right--this she would do!
But after the first quick step toward Philostratus, she stood still,
once more hesitating. The saying about the fulfilling of the time
recurred to her as she thought of the Christian, and she said to herself
that the critical moment which comes in every life was before her now.
The weal or woe of her whole future depended on the answer she should
give to Philostratus. The thought struck terror to her heart, but only
for a moment. Then she drew herself up proudly, and, as she approached
her friend, felt with joy that she had chosen the better part; yea, that
it would cost her but little to lay down her life for it.
Though apparently absorbed in his conversation with the Thracian,
Philostratus had not ceased to observe the girl, and his knowledge of
human nature showed him quickly to what decision she had come. Firmly
persuaded that he had won her over to Caracalla’s side, he had left her
to her own reflections. He was certain that the seed he had sown in
her mind would take root; she could now clearly picture to herself what
pleasures she would enjoy as empress, and from what she could preserve
others. For she was shrewd and capable of reasoning, and above all--and
from this he hoped the most--she was but a woman. But just because she
was a woman he could not be surprised at her disappointing him in his
expectations. For the sake of Caracalla and those who surrounded him he
would have wished it to be otherwise; but he had become too fond of her,
and had too good a heart, not to be distressed at the thought of seeing
her fettered to the unbridled young tyrant.
Before she could address him, he took his leave of the Thracian. Then,
as he led her back to the divan, he whispered: “Well, I have gained one
more experience. The next time I leave a woman to come to a decision,
I shall anticipate from the first that she will come to an opposite
conclusion to that which, as a philosopher and logical thinker, I should
expect of her. You are determined to keep faith with your betrothed and
stab the heart of this highest of all wooers--after death he will be
ranked among the gods--for such will be the effect of your flight.”
Melissa nodded gayly, and rejoined, “The blunt weapon that I carry would
surely not cost Caesar his life, even if he were no future immortal.”
“Scarcely,” answered Philostratus; “but what he may suffer through
you will drive him to turn his own all-too-sharp sword against others.
Caracalla being a man, my calculations regarding him have generally
proved right. You will see how firmly I believe in them in this case,
when I tell you that I have already taken advantage of a letter brought
by the messengers of the empress-mother to take my leave of the emperor.
For, I reasoned, if Melissa listens to the emperor, she will need no
other confederate than the boy Eros; if, however, she takes flight--then
woe betide those who are within range of the tyrant’s arm, and ten times
woe to me who brought the fugitive before his notice! Early to-morrow,
before Caracalla leaves his couch, I shall return with the messengers to
Julia; my place in the ship--”
“O my lord,” interrupted Melissa, in consternation, “if you, my kind
protector, forsake me, to whom shall I look for help?”
“You will not require it if you carry out your intentions,” said the
philosopher. “Throughout this day you will doubtless need me; and let me
impress upon you once more to behave before Caracalla in such a manner
that even his suspicious mind may not guess what you intend to do.
To-day you will still find me ready to help you. But, hark! That is
Caesar raging again. It is thus he loves to dismiss ambassadors, when
he wishes they should clearly understand that their conditions are not
agreeable to him. And one word more: When a man has grown gray, it is
doubly soothing to his heart that a lovely maiden should so frankly
regret the parting. I was ever a friend of your amiable sex, and even to
this day Eros is sometimes not unfavorably inclined to me. But you, the
more charming you are, the more deeply do I regret that I may not be
more to you than an old and friendly mentor. But pity at first kept love
from speaking, and then the old truth that every woman’s heart may be
won save that which already belongs to another.”
The elderly admirer of the fair sex spoke these words in such a
pleasant, regretful tone that Melissa gave him an affectionate glance
from her large, bright eyes, and answered, archly: “Had Eros shown
Philostratus the way to Melissa instead of Diodoros, Philostratus might
now be occupying the place in this heart which belongs to the son of
Polybius, and which must always be his in spite of Caesar!”