Melissa had wept her fill on the breast of the lady Euryale, who
listened to her woes with motherly sympathy, and yet she felt as if a
biting frost had broken and destroyed the blossoms which only yesterday
had so richly and hopefully decked her young heart. Diodoros’s love had
been to her like the fair and sunny summer days that turn the sour, hard
fruit into sweet and juicy grapes. And now the frost had nipped them.
The whole future, and everything round her, now looked gray, colorless,
and flat. Only two thoughts held possession of her mind: on the
one hand, that of her betrothed, from whom this visit to the Circus
threatened to separate her forever; and on the other, that of her
imperial lover, to escape whom she would have flown anywhere, even to
the grave.
Euryale remarked with concern how weary and broken Melissa looked--so
different from her usual bright self, while she listened to her
father and Alexander as they consulted with the lady as to the future.
Philostratus, who had promised his advice, did not appear; and to the
gem-cutter, no proposal could seem so unwelcome as that of leaving his
native city and his sick favorite, Philip.
He considered it senseless, and a result of the thoroughly wrong-headed
views of sentimental women, to reject the monarch of the world when
he made honorable proposals to an unpretending girl. But the lady
Euryale--of whom his late wife had always spoken with the highest
respect--and, supported by her, his son Alexander, had both represented
to him so forcibly that a union with the emperor would render Melissa
most unhappy, if it did not lead to death, that he had been reduced to
silence. Only, when they spoke of the necessity of flight, he burst
out again, declaring that the time had not yet come for such extreme
measures.
When Melissa now rejoined them, he spoke of the emperor’s behavior
toward her as being worthy of a man of honor, and endeavored to touch
her heart by representing what an old man must feel who should be forced
to leave the house where his father and grandfather had lived before
him, and even the town whose earth held all that was dearest to him.
Here the tears which so easily rose to his eyes began to flow, and,
seeing that Melissa’s tender heart was moved by his sorrow, he gained
confidence, and reproached his daughter for having kindled Caracalla’s
love, by her radiant eyes--so like her mother’s! Honestly believing that
his affection was returned, Caesar was offering her the highest honor in
his power; if she fled from him, he would have every right to complain
of having been basely deceived, and to call her a heartless wanton.
Alexander now came to his sister’s aid, and reminded him how Melissa
had hazarded life and liberty to save him and her brothers. She had been
forced to look so kindly into the tyrant’s face if only to sue for their
pardon, and it became him ill to make this a reproach to his daughter.
Melissa nodded gratefully to her brother, but Heron remained firm in
his assertion that to think of flight would be foolish, or at least
premature.
At this, Alexander repeated to him that Melissa had whispered in his
ear that she would rather die at once than live in splendor, but in
perpetual fear, by the side of an unloved husband; whereupon Heron began
to breathe hard, as he always did before an outburst of anger.
But a message, calling him to the emperor’s presence, soon calmed him.
At parting, he kissed Melissa, and murmured “Would you really drive your
old father out of our dear home, away from his work, and his birds--from
his garden, and your mother’s grave? Is it then so terrible to live as
empress, in splendor and honor? I am going to Caesar--you can not hinder
me from greeting him kindly from you?”
Without waiting for an answer, he left the room; but when he was outside
he took care to glance at himself in the mirror, arrange his beard and
hair, and place his gigantic form in a few of the dignified attitudes he
intended to adopt in the presence of the emperor.
Meanwhile Melissa had thrown off the indifference into which she had
fallen, and her old doubts raised their warning heads with renewed
force.
Alexander swore to be her faithful ally; Euryale once more assured her
of her assistance; and yet, more especially when she was moved with pity
for her father, who was to leave all he loved for her sake, she felt as
if she were being driven hither and thither, in some frail bark, at the
mercy of the waves.
Suddenly a new idea flashed through her mind. She rose quickly.
“I will go to Diodoros,” she cried, “and tell him all! He shall decide.”
“Just now?” asked Euryale, startled. “You would certainly not find
your betrothed alone, and since all the world knows of Caracalla’s
intentions, and gazes curiously after you, your visit would instantly
be reported to Caesar. Nor is it advisable for you to present yourself
before your offended lover, when you have neither Andreas nor any one
else to speak for you and take your part.”
Melissa burst into tears, but the matron drew her to her and continued
tenderly:
“You must give that up--but, Alexander, do you go to your friend, and be
your sister’s mouthpiece!”
The artist consented with all the ardor of brotherly affection, and
having received from Melissa, whose courage began to rise again, strict
injunctions as to what he was to say to her lover, he departed on his
errand.
Wholly absorbed by the stormy emotions of her heart, the maiden had
forgotten time and every external consideration; but the lady Euryale
was thoughtful for her, and now led her to her chamber to have her hair
dressed for the Circus. The matron carefully avoided, for the present,
all mention of her young friend’s flight, though her mind was constantly
occupied with it--and not in vain.
The skillful waiting-woman, whom she had bought from the house of
the priest of Alexander, who was a Roman knight, loosened the girl’s
abundant brown hair, and, with loud cries of admiration, declared it
would be easy to dress such locks in the most approved style of fashion.
She then laid the curling-irons on the dish of coals which stood on a
slender tripod, and was about to twist it into ringlets; but Melissa,
who had never resorted to such arts, refused to permit it. The slave
assured her, however, as earnestly as if it were a matter of the highest
importance, that it was impossible to arrange the curls of a lady of
distinction without the irons. Euryale, too, begged Melissa to allow it,
as nothing would make her so conspicuous in her overdressed surroundings
as excessive simplicity. That was quite true, but it made the girl
realize so vividly what was before her, that she covered her face with
her hands and sobbed out:
“To be exposed to the gaze of the whole city--to its envy and its
scorn!”
The matron’s warning inquiry, what had become of her favorite’s
high-minded calm, and her advice to restrain her weeping, lest she
should appear before the public in the Amphitheater with tear-stained
eyes, helped her to compose herself.
The tire-woman had not finished her work when Alexander returned, and
Melissa dared not turn her head for fear of disturbing her in her task.
But when Alexander began his report with the exclamation, “Who knows
what foolish gossip has driven him to this?” she sprang up, regardless
of the slave’s warning cry. And as her brother went on to relate how
Diodoros had left the Serapeum, in spite of the physician’s entreaty
to wait at least until next morning, but that Melissa need not take it
greatly to heart, it was too much for the girl who had already that day
gone through such severe and varied experiences. The ground seemed to
heave beneath her feet; sick and giddy she put out her hand to find some
support, that she might not sink on her knees; in so doing, she caught
the tall tripod which held the dish of coals. It swayed and fell
clattering to the ground, bringing the irons with it. Its burning
contents fell partly on the floor and partly on the festal robe which
Melissa had thrown over a chair before loosening her hair. Alexander
caught her just in time to prevent her falling.
With her healthy nature, Melissa soon regained consciousness, and during
the first few moments her distress over the spoiled garment threw every
other thought into the background. Shaking her head gravely over the
black-edged holes which the coals had burned in the peplos and the
under-robes, Euryale secretly rejoiced at the accident. She remembered
that when her heart was torn and bleeding, after the death of her only
child, her thoughts were taken off herself by the necessary duty of
providing mourning garments for herself, her husband, and the slaves.
This trivial task had at least helped her to forget for a few hours the
bitterness of her grief.
Only anxious to lighten in some sort the fate of the sweet young
creature whom she had learned to love, she made much of the difficulty
of procuring a fresh dress for Melissa, though she was perfectly aware
that her sister-in-law possessed many such. Alexander was commissioned
to take one of the emperor’s chariots--which always stood ready for
the use of the courtiers between the Serapeum and the springs on the
east--and to hasten to the lady Berenike. The lady begged that he, as an
artist, would assist in choosing the robe; and the less conspicuous and
costly it was the better.
To this Melissa heartily agreed, and, after Alexander had gone, Euryale
bore off her pale young charge to the eating-room, where she forced
her to take some old wine and a little food, which she would not touch
before. As the attendant filled the wine-cup, the high-priest himself
joined them, greeted Melissa briefly and with measured courtesy, and
begged his wife to follow him for a moment into the tablinum.
The attendant, a slave who had grown gray in the service of Timotheus,
now begged the young guest, as though he represented his mistress, to
take a little food, and not to sip so timidly from the winecup. But the
lonely repast was soon ended, and Melissa, strengthened and refreshed,
withdrew to the sleeping-apartment. Only light curtains hung at the
doors of the high-priest’s hurriedly furnished rooms, and no one noticed
Melissa’s entrance into the adjoining chamber.
She had never played the eavesdropper, but she had neither the presence
of mind to withdraw, nor could she avoid hearing that her own name was
mentioned.
It was the lady who spoke, and her husband answered in excited tones:
“As to your Christianity, and whatever there may be in it that is
offensive to me as high-priest of a heathen god, we will speak of that
later. It is not a question now of a difference of opinion, but of a
serious danger, which you with your easily-moved heart will bring down
upon yourself and me. The gem-cutter’s daughter is a lovely creature--I
will not deny it--and worthy of your sympathy; besides which, you, as a
woman, can not bear to see her most sacred feelings wounded.”
“And would you let your hands he idle in your lap,” interposed his wife,
“if you saw a lovable, innocent child on the edge of a precipice, and
felt yourself strong enough to save her from falling? You can not have
asked yourself what would be the fate of a girl like Melissa if she were
Caracalla’s wife.”
“Indeed I have,” Timotheus assured her gravely, “and nothing would
please me better than that the maiden should succeed in escaping that
fate. But--the time is short, and I must be brief--the emperor is our
guest, and honors me with boundless confidence. Just now he disclosed
to me his determination to make Melissa his wife, and I was forced to
approve it. Thus he looks to me to carry out his wishes; and if the
maiden escapes, and there falls on you, or, through you, on me, the
shadow of a suspicion of having assisted in her flight, he will have
every right to regard me as a traitor and to treat me as such. To others
my life is made sacred by my high office, but the man to whom a human
life--no matter whose--is no more than that of a sacrificial animal is
to you or me, that man would shed the blood of us both without a quiver
of the eyelid.”
“Then let him!” cried Euryale, hotly. “My bereaved and worn-out life is
but a small price to pay for that of an innocent, blameless creature,
glowing with youth and all the happiness of requited love, and with a
right to the highest joys that life can offer.”
“And I?” exclaimed Timotheus, angrily. “What am I to you since the death
of our child? For the sake of the first person that came to you as
a poor substitute for our lost daughter, you are ready to go to your
death, and to drag me with you into the gloom of Hades. There speaks the
Christian! Even that gentle philosopher on the throne, Marcus Aurelius,
was disgusted at your fellow-believers’ hideous mania for death. The
Christian expects in the next world all that is denied to him in this.
But we think of this life, in which the Deity has placed us. To me
life is the highest blessing, and yours is dearer to me than my own.
Therefore I say, firmly and decidedly: Melissa must not make her escape
from this house. If she is determined to fly this night, let her do
so--I shall not hinder her. If your counsel is of service to her, I am
glad; but she must not enter this house again after the performance in
the Circus, unless she be firmly resolved to become Caesar’s wife. If
she can not bring herself to this, the apartments which belong to us
must be closed against her, as against a dangerous foe.”
“And whither can she go?” asked Euryale, sadly and with tearful eyes,
for there was no gainsaying so definite an order from her lord and
master. “The moment she is missed, they will search her father’s
house; and, if she takes advantage of Berenike’s ship, it will soon be
discovered that it was your brother’s wife who helped her to escape from
Caracalla.”
“Berenike will know what to do,” answered Timotheus, composedly. “She,
if any one, knows how to take care of herself. She has the protection of
her influential brother-in-law, Coeranus; and just now there is nothing
she would not do to strike a blow at her hated enemy.”
“How sorrow and revenge have worked upon that strange woman!” exclaimed
the lady, sadly. “Caracalla has injured her, it is true--”
“He has, and to-day he has added a further, deeper insult, for he forces
her to appear in the Amphitheater, with the wives of the other citizens
who bear the cost of this performance. I was there, and heard him say
to Seleukus, who was acting as spokesman, that he counted on seeing his
wife, of whom he had heard so much, in her appointed place this evening.
“This will add fuel to the fire of her hatred. If she only does not
allow her anger to carry her away, and to show it in a manner that she
will afterward regret!--But my time is short. I have to walk before
the sacred images in full ceremonial vestments, and accompanied by
the priest of Alexander. You, unfortunately, take no pleasure in such
spectacles. Once more, then--if the girl is determined to fly, she must
not return here. I repeat, if any one can help her to get away, it is
Berenike. Our sister-in-law must take the consequences. Caesar can not
accuse her of treason, at any rate, and her interference in the matter
will clear us of all suspicion of complicity.”
No word of this conversation had escaped Melissa. She learned nothing
new from it, but it affected her deeply.
Warm-hearted as she was, she fully realized the debt of gratitude she
owed to the lady Euryale; and she could not blame the high-priest, whom
prudence certainly compelled to close his doors against her. And yet she
was wounded by his words. She had struggled so hard in these last days
to banish all thought of her own happiness, and shield her dear ones
from harm, that such selfishness appeared doubly cruel to her. Did
it not seem as if this priest of the great Deity to whom she had been
taught to pray, cared little what became of his nearest relatives, so
long as he and his wife were unmolested? That was the opposite of what
Andreas had praised as the highest duty, the last time she had walked
with him to the ferry; and since then Johanna had told her the story
of Christ’s sufferings, and she understood the fervor with which the
freedman had spoken of the crucified Son of God--the great example of
all unselfishness.
In the enthusiasm of her warm young heart she felt that what she had
heard of the Christians’ teacher was beautiful, and that she too would
not find it hard to die for those she loved.
With drooping head Euryale re-entered the room, and gazed with kind,
anxious eyes into the girl’s face, as if asking her forgiveness.
Following the impulse of her candid heart, Melissa threw her fair young
arms round the aged lady, and, to her great surprise, after kissing her
warmly on brow and mouth and eyes, cried in tones of tender entreaty:
“Forgive me. I did not want to listen, and yet I could not choose but
hear. No word of your discourse escaped me. I know now that I must not
fly, and that I must bear whatever fate the gods may send me. I used
often to say to myself, ‘Of how little importance is my life or my
happiness!’ And now that I must give up my lover, come what may I care
not what the future has in store for me. I can never forget Diodoros;
and, when I think that everything is at an end between us, it is as if
my heart were torn in pieces. But I have found out, in these last days,
what heavy troubles one may bear without breaking down. If my flight is
to bring danger, if not death and ruin, upon so many good people, I had
better stay. The man who lusts after me--it is true, when I think of his
embrace my blood runs cold! But perhaps I shall be able to endure even
that. And then--if I crush my heart into silence, and renounce Diodoros
forever, and give myself up to Caesar--as I must--tell me you will not
then close your doors against me, but that I may stay with you till the
horrid hour comes when Caracalla calls me?”
The matron had listened with deep emotion to Melissa’s victory over her
desires and her aversions. This heathen maiden, brought up in the right
way by a good mother, and to whom life had taught many a hard lesson,
was she not already treading in the footsteps of the Saviour? This child
was offering up the great and pure love of her heart to preserve others
from sorrow and danger; and what a different course of action was she
herself to pursue in obedience to her husband’s orders--her husband,
whose duty it was to offer a shining example to the whole heathen world!
She thought of Abraham’s sacrifice, and wondered if the Lord might not
perhaps be satisfied with Melissa’s willingness to lay her love upon the
altar. In any case, whatever she, Euryale, could do to save her from the
worst fate that could befall a woman, that should be done, and this time
it was she who drew the other toward her and kissed her.
Her heart was full to overflowing, and yet she did not forget to warn
Melissa to be careful, when she was about to lay her head with its
artificially arranged curls upon the lady’s breast.
“No, no,” she said, tenderly warding off the maiden’s embrace. Then,
laying her hands on the girl’s shoulders, she looked her straight in the
face, and continued: “Here you will ever find a resting-place. When your
hair lies smoothly round your sweet face, as it did yesterday, then lay
it on my breast as often as you will. Aye, and it can and shall be here
in the Serapeum; though not in these rooms, which my lord and master
closes against you. I told you of the time being fulfilled for each one
of us, and when yours came you proved yourself to be the good tree of
which our Lord speaks as bearing good fruit. You look at me inquiringly;
how indeed should you understand the words of a Christian? But I shall
find time enough in the next few days to explain them to you; for--I say
it again--you shall remain near me while the emperor searches the city
and half the world over for you. Keep that firmly in your mind and let
it help to give you courage in the Circus.”
“But my father?” cried Melissa, pointing to the curtain, through which
Heron’s loud voice now became audible.
“Depend on me,” whispered the lady, hurriedly; “and rest assured that he
will be warned in time. Do not betray my promise. If we were to take him
into our confidence now, he would spoil all. As soon as he is gone, and
your brother has returned, you two shall hear--”
They were interrupted by the steward, who, with a peculiar smile upon
his clean-shaven lips, came to announce Heron’s visit.
The communicative gem-cutter had already confided to the servant what
it was that agitated him so greatly, but Melissa was astonished at the
change in her father’s manner.
The shuffling gait of the gigantic, unwieldy man, who had grown gray
stooping over his work, had gained a certain majestic dignity. His
cheeks glowed, and the gray eyes, which had long since acquired a fixed
look from straining over the gemcutting, now beamed with a blissful
radiance. Something wonderful must have happened to him, and, without
waiting to be questioned by the lady, he poured out to her the news that
he would have been overjoyed to have shouted in the market-place for all
to hear.
The reception accorded to him at Caesar’s table, he declared, had been
flattering beyond all words. The godlike monarch had treated him more
considerately, nay, sometimes with more reverence, than his own sons.
The best dishes had been put before him, and Caracalla had asked all
sorts of questions about his future consort, and, on hearing that
Melissa had sent him greetings, he had raised himself and drunk to him
as if he were a friend.
His table-companions, too, had treated Heron with every distinction.
Immediately on his arrival the monarch had desired them to honor him
as the father of the future empress. They had all agreed with him in
demanding that Zminis the Egyptian should be punished with death, and
had even encouraged him to give the reins to his righteous anger. He, if
any one, was in the habit of being moderate in all things, if only as
a good example to his sons; and he had proved in many a Dionysiac feast
that the god could not easily overpower him. The amount of wine he
had drunk to-day would generally have had no more effect upon him than
water, and yet he had felt now and then as if he were drunken, and the
whole festal hall turned round with him. Even now he would be quite
incapable of walking forward in a given straight line.
With the exclamation, “Such is life!--a few hours ago on the
rowing-bench, and fighting with the brander of the galleys for trying
to brand me with the slave-mark, and now one of the greatest among the
great!” he closed his tale, for a glance through the window showed him
that time pressed.
With strange bashfulness he then gazed at a ring upon his right hand,
and said hesitatingly that his own modesty made the avowal difficult to
him; but the fact was, he was not the same man as when he last left
the ladies. By the grace of the emperor he had been made a praetorian.
Caesar had at first wanted to make him a knight; but he esteemed his
Macedonian descent higher than that class, to which too many freed
slaves belonged for his taste. This he had frankly acknowledged, and the
emperor must have considered his objections valid, for he immediately
spoke a few words to the prefect Macrinus, and then told the others to
greet him as senator with the rank of praetorian.
Then indeed he felt as if the seat beneath him were transformed into a
wild steed carrying him away, through sea and sky-wherever it pleased.
He had had to hold tightly to the arm of the couch, and only remembered
that some one--who it was he did not know--had whispered to him to thank
Caesar.
“This,” continued the gem-cutter, “restored me so far to myself that I
could express my gratitude to your future husband, my child. I am only
the second Egyptian who has entered the senate. Coeranus was the only
one before me. What favor! And how can I describe what followed? All the
distinguished members of the senate and the past consuls offered me a
brotherly embrace as their new colleague. When Caesar commanded me to
appear at your side in the Circus, wearing the white toga with the
broad purple stripe, and I remarked that the shops of the better
clothes-sellers would be shut by this time on account of the
performance, and that such a toga was not to be obtained, there was a
great laugh over the Alexandrian love of amusement. From all sides they
offered me what I required; but I gave the preference to Theocritus, on
account of his height. What is long enough for him will not be too short
for me.--And now one of the emperor’s chariots is waiting for me. If
only Alexander were at home! The house ought to have been illuminated
and hung with garlands for my arrival, and a crowd of slaves waiting to
kiss my hands.
“There will soon be more than our two. I hope Argutis may understand how
to fasten on the shoes with the straps and the crescent! Philip knows
even less of these things than I do myself, besides which the poor
boy is laid low. It is lucky that I remembered him. I had very nearly
forgotten his existence. Ah!--if your mother were still alive! She had
clever-fingers! She--Ah, lady Euryale, Melissa has perhaps told you
about her. Olympias she was called, like the mother of the great
Alexander, and, like her, she bore good children. You yourself were
praising my boys just now. And the girl!.. Only a few days ago, it was
a pretty, shy thing that no one would ever have expected to do anything
great; and now, what have we not to thank that gentle child for? The
little one was always her mother’s darling. Eternal gods! I dare not
think of it! If only she who is gone might have had the joy of hearing
me called senator and praetor! O child! if she could have sat with
us to-day in the emperor’s seats, and we two could have seen you
there--you, our pride, honored by the whole city, Caesar’s future
bride.”
Here the strong man with the soft heart broke down, and, clasping
his hands over his face, sobbed aloud, while Melissa clung to him and
stroked his bearded cheeks.
Under her loving words of consolation he soon regained his composure,
and, still struggling against the rising tears, he cried:
“Thank Heaven, there can be no more foolish talk of flight! I shall stay
here; I shall never take advantage of the ivory chair that belongs to
me in the curia in Rome. Your husband, my child, and the state, would
scarcely expect it of me. If, however, Caesar presents me as his
father, with estates and treasures, my first thought shall be to raise a
monument to your mother. You shall see! A monument, I tell you, without
a rival. It shall represent the strength of man submissive to womanly
charm.”
He bent down to kiss his daughter’s brow, and whispered in her ear:
“Gaze confidently into the future, my girl. A father’s eye is not easily
deceived, and so I tell you--that the emperor has been forced to shed
blood do insure the safety of the throne; but, in personal intercourse
with him, I learned to know your future husband as a noble-hearted man.
Indeed, I am not rich enough to thank the gods for such a son-in-law!”
Melissa gazed after her father, incapable of speaking. It went to
her heart that all these hopes should be changed to sorrow and
disappointment through her. And so she said, with tearful eyes, and
shook hey head when the lady assured her that with her it was a question
of a cruelly spoiled life, whereas her father would only have to
renounce some idle vanities which he would forget as easily as he had
seized upon them.
“You do not know him,” answered the maiden, sadly. “If I fly, then he
too must hide himself in a far country. He will never be happy again if
they take him from the little house--his birds--our mother’s grave. It
was for her sake alone that he took no thought for the ivory seat in the
curia. If you only knew how he clings to everything that reminds him of
our mother, and she never left our city.”
Here she was interrupted by the entrance of Philostratus. He was not
alone; an imperial slave accompanied him, bringing a graceful basket
with gifts from the emperor to Melissa.
First came a wreath of roses and lotos-flowers, looking as if they had
been plucked just before sunrise, for among the blossoms and leaves
there flashed and sparkled a glittering dew of diamonds, lightly
fastened on delicate silver wires. Next came a bunch of flowers, round
whose stems a supple golden snake was twined, covered with rubies and
diamonds and destined to coil itself round a woman’s arm. The third
was a necklace of extremely costly Persian pearls, which had once
belonged--so the merchant had declared--to great Cleopatra’s treasure.
Melissa loved flowers; and the costly gifts that accompanied them
could not fail to rejoice a woman’s heart. And yet she only gave them a
passing glance, reddening painfully as she did so.
What the bearer had to say to her was of more importance to her than
the gifts he brought, and in fact the troubled manner of the usually
composed philosopher betrayed that he had something more serious to
deliver than the gifts of his love-sick lord.
The lady Euryale, perceiving that he meant to try once more to persuade
Melissa to yield, hastened to declare that she had found ways and means
to help the maiden to escape; but he shook his head with a sigh, and
said, thoughtfully:
“Well--well--I shall go on board the ship while the wild beasts are
doing their part in the Circus. May we meet again happily, either here
or else where! My way leads me first to Caesar’s mother, to inform her
of his choice of a wife. Not that he needs her consent: whose consent or
disapproval does Caracalla care for? But I am to win Julia’s heart for
you. Possibly I may succeed; but you--you scorn it, and fly from her
son. And yet--believe me, child--the heart of that woman is a treasure
that has no equal, and, if she should open her arms to you, there would
be little that you could not endure. When I left you, just now, I put
myself in your place, and approved of your resolve; but it would be
wrong not to remind you once more of what you must expect if you follow
your own will, and if Caesar considers himself scorned, ill-treated, and
deceived by you.”
“In the name of all the gods, what has happened?” broke in Melissa,
pallid with fear. Philostratus pressed his hand to his brow, and his
voice was hoarse with suppressed emotion as he continued: “Nothing
new-only things are taking their old course. You know that Caracalla
threatened old Claudius Vindex and his nephew with death because of
their opposition to his union with you. We all hoped, however, that he
would be moved to exercise mercy. He is in love--he was so gracious at
the feast! I myself was foremost among those who did their utmost to
dispose Caesar to clemency.. But he would not be moved, and, before the
sun goes down upon this day, the old man and the young one--the chiefest
among the nobles of Rome--will be no more. And it is Caracalla’s love
for you, child, that sheds this blood. Ask yourself after this how many
lives will be sacrificed when your flight causes hatred and fury to
reign supreme in the soul of the cheated monarch!”
With quickened breath Euryale had listened to the philosopher, without
regarding the girl; but scarcely had Philostratus uttered his last words
than Melissa ran to her, and, clasping her hands passionately on the
matron’s arm, she cried, “Ought I to obey you, Euryale, and the terrors
of my own heart, and flee?”
Then releasing the lady, she turned again to the philosopher, and burst
out: “Or are you in the right, Philostratus? Must I stay, to prevent the
misery that threatens to overtake others?”
Beside herself, torn by the storm that raged in her soul, she clasped
her hands upon her brow and continued, wildly: “You are both of you
so wise, and surely wish the best. How can you give me such opposite
advice? And my own heart?--why have the gods struck it dumb? Time was
when it spoke loudly enough if ever I was in doubt. One thing I know
for certain: if by the sacrifice of my life I could undo it all, I would
joyfully cast myself before the lions and panthers, like the Christian
maiden whom my mother saw smiling radiantly as she was led into the
arena. Splendor and power are as hateful to me as the flowers yonder
with their false dew. I was ever taught to close my ear to the voice
of selfishness. If I have any wish for myself, it is that I may keep my
faith with him to whom it was promised. But for love of my father, and
if I could be certain of saving many from death and misery, I would
stay, though I should despise myself and be separated forever from my
beloved!”
“Submit to the inevitable,” interposed the philosopher, with eager
entreaty. “The immortal gods will reward you with the blessings
of hundreds whom a word from you will have saved from ruin and
destruction.”
“And what say you?” asked the maiden, gazing with anxious expectancy
into the matron’s face. “Follow your own heart!” replied the lady,
deeply moved.
Melissa had hearkened to both counselors with eager ear, and both hung
anxiously on her lips, while, as if taken out of herself, she gazed with
panting bosom into the empty air. They had not long to wait. Suddenly
the maiden approached Philostratus and said with a firmness and decision
that astonished her friend:
“This will I do--this--I feel it here--this is the right. I remain, I
renounce the love of my heart, and accept what Fate has laid upon me. It
will be hard, and the sacrifice that I offer is great. But I must first
have the certainty that it shall not be in vain.”
“But, child,” cried Philostratus, “who can look into the future, and
answer for what is still to come?”
“Who?” asked Melissa, undaunted. “He alone in whose hand lies my future.
To Caesar himself I leave the decision. Go you to him now and speak for
me. Bring him greeting from me, and tell him that I, whom he honors with
his love, dare to entreat him modestly but earnestly not to punish the
aged Claudius Vindex and his nephew for the fault they were guilty of on
my account. For my sake would he deign to grant them life--and liberty?
Add to this that it is the first proof I have asked of his magnanimity,
and clothe it all in such winning words as Peitho can lay upon your
eloquent lips. If he grants pardon to these unfortunate ones, it shall
be a sign to me that I may be permitted to shield others from his wrath.
If he refuses, and they are put to death, then will he himself have
decided our fate otherwise, and he sees me for the last time alive in
the Circus. Thus shall it be--I have spoken.”
The last words came like a stern order, and Philostratus seemed to
have some hopes of the emperor’s clemency, for his love’s sake, and the
philosopher’s own eloquence. The moment Melissa ceased, he seized her
hand and cried, eagerly:
“I will try it; and, if he grant your request, you remain?”
“Yes,” answered the maiden, firmly. “Pray Caesar to have mercy, soften
his heart as much as you are able. I expect an answer before going to
the Circus.”
She hurried back into the sleeping-room without regarding Philostratus’s
answer. Once there, she threw herself upon her knees and prayed, now
to the manes of her mother, now--it was for the first time--to the
crucified Saviour of the Christians, who had taken upon himself a
painful death to bring happiness to others. First she prayed for
strength to keep her vow, come what might; and then she prayed for
Diodoros, that he might not be made wretched if she found herself
compelled to break her troth with him. Her father and brothers, too,
were not forgotten, as she commended their lives to a higher power.
When Euryale looked into the room, she found Melissa still upon her
knees, her young frame shaken as with fever. So she withdrew softly, and
in the Temple of Serapis, where her husband served as high-priest, she
prayed to Jesus Christ that he who suffered little children to come unto
him would lead this wandering lamb into the right path.