"Beloved, you do not know how much I love you! Oh, if you could
only..."
The invalid would never finish the sentence, nor ask her sister if she
held the faith. But in her sad glance at Arsinoë, as if not daring
utterance, Arsinoë read reproach. Nevertheless, she was herself
unwilling to speak about that faith, not having the courage to
communicate her doubt, for fear of perhaps robbing her sister of the
mad hope of immortality.
Myrrha weakened from day to day, waning like the wax of a taper; but
from day to day grew more joyous and more calm.
Juventinus, who had quitted Rome lest his mother should follow him,
was waiting at Naples with Didimus for the departure of the ship for
Alexandria. He came to see the sisters every evening. He used to read
aloud the Gospels and tell legends of the saints.... Oh, how Myrrha
longed to journey to those dark caves and live near those great and
holy lives! The desert to her appeared not dull and sterile, but
flowery, a wondrous earthly paradise, lighted by a light such as shone
on no other region. Indoors she grew stifled; and sometimes, fevered
by the pains of sickness, and languishing after the Thebaïd, she used
to watch the white sails of ships disappear in the distance and
stretch out her pale hands towards them. Oh, to flee after them and
breathe the pure air and silence of the desert! Many a time she would
try to rise, declaring she felt better, would soon be well, and in
secret kept hoping that they would allow her to set sail with Didimus
and Juventinus, on the ship for Alexandria.
Anatolius, Arsinoë's faithful admirer, was also living at Baiæ. The
young Epicurean used to organise delightful excursions in his gilded
galley from the Bay to the Pæstan Gulf, with gay companions and pretty
women. What he loved most was to see the purple sails bowing over the
sleepy sea; hues of twilight melting on the cliffs of Capreæ and
Ischia, looking like enormous amethysts lying in the water. It pleased
him to ridicule his friends about their faith. The fragrance of wines
and the intoxicating kisses of courtesans pleased him also.
But every time he went into Myrrha's quiet little cell he would become
aware that another side of life also lay open to him. The innocent
grace and the pale countenance of the young girl touched him deeply.
He longed to believe in anything in which she believed: the gentle
Galilean, and the miracle of immortality. He would listen to the tales
of Juventinus, and the life of desert anchorites he, too, thought
sublime. Anatolius observed with surprise that for himself truth
existed both in the intoxication of life and in its renunciation; both
in the triumph of matter and in the triumph of soul; both in chastity
and in voluptuousness. His intelligence remained clear, and his
conscience without remorse.
Even doubt had for him its pleasure, like a kind of new game. These
deep and gentle waves of opinion, transitions from Christianity to
Paganism, lulled his soul rather than distressed it.
One evening Myrrha fell asleep before the open window. On awakening,
she said to Juventinus with a bright smile--
"I've had a strange dream...."
"What was it?"
"I don't remember. But it was happy. Do you think that the whole world
will gain salvation?"
"All the righteous; sinners will be punished."
"Righteous? sinners?... That is not my idea," answered Myrrha, still
smiling, as if she was trying to remember the dream. "Do you know,
Juventinus, that all, all shall be saved, and that God will not suffer
one to be lost!"
"So the great master Origen believed. He used to say, 'My Saviour
cannot rejoice so long as I am in iniquity.' But that is a heresy...."