THE SLAVES' TOILET.
Night fell, and with it my spirits, in my lonely prison.
Hesus! Hesus! I was left to the torture, not alone of my thoughts about
my sacred and beloved country, but also of my reflections concerning the
misfortunes of my family. Alas, at every wound inflicted upon our
country our families bleed.
Forcibly resigned to my lot, I little by little regained my natural
strength, encouraged each day by the hope of obtaining from the
"horse-dealer" some intelligence of my children. I described them to him
as accurately as possible. Every day his report was that among the
captives seen there were none answering to my description, but that
several merchants made a practice of hiding their choice slaves from all
eyes until the day of the public sale. The dealer also informed me that
the patrician Trymalcion, whose very name now made me shudder with
horror, had arrived at Vannes in his galley.
The evening before the sale, the dealer entered my room. It was, almost
dark. He brought in the meal himself, and waited on me. He brought as an
extra a flagon of old Gallic wine.
"Friend Bull," said he, with his habitual joviality, "I am satisfied
with you. Your skin is almost filled up. You have no more crazy spells
of anger, and if you don't appear exceedingly joyous, at least I no
longer find you sad and tearful. We will drink this flagon together, to
your happy placing with a good master, and to the gain which I shall get
by you."
"No," I answered, "I shall not drink."
"And why not?"
"Servitude sours wine, especially the wine of the country where one was
born."
"You respond ill to my kindness. You do not wish to drink? Suit
yourself. I would have liked to empty one cup to your happy placing, and
a second to your reunion with your children. I have my reasons for the
latter."
"What say you!" I cried aloud, filled with hope and anguish. "You know
something about them?"
"I know nothing about them," he answered curtly, rising to go out. "You
refuse my friendly advance. You have supped well--now sleep well."
"But what do you know of my children? Speak, I beg you, speak!"
"Wine alone loosens my tongue, friend Bull, and I am not one of those
men who loves to drink by himself. You are too proud to empty a cup with
your master. Sleep well till to-morrow, the day of the auction."
He took another step toward the door. I feared that by refusing to yield
to the man's fancy I would anger him, and above all lose the chance of
obtaining news of my beloved children.
"Do you really wish it?" I said. "Then I shall drink, and especially
shall I drink to the hope of soon meeting my son and daughter."
"You pray well," answered the "horse-dealer" approaching his chattel,
but keeping the chain's length away; then he poured me a full cup of
wine, and another for himself. I later recollected that the man had held
the cup a long time to his lips, but without my being able to see
whether he drank or not. "Come," he added. "Come, let us drink to the
good gain I shall make on you!"
"Yes, let us drink to the hope of meeting my children."
I emptied my cup. The wine seemed excellent.
"I made you a promise," began the dealer, "I shall keep my promise. You
told me that the chariot which held your family on the day of the battle
of Vannes was harnessed to four black oxen?"
"Yes."
"Four black oxen, with a little white mark in the middle of their
foreheads?"
"Yes, all four were brothers, and alike," I answered, unable to repress
a sigh at the thought of that fine yoke, raised on our own meadows,
which my father and mother had always admired.
"Those oxen carried on their necks leathern collars trimmed with little
brass bells like this one?" continued the "horse-dealer," fumbling in
his pocket, out of which he drew a little brass bell that he held up
before me.
I recognized it. It had been made by my brother Mikael, the armorer,
and bore the mark with which he stamped all the articles of his
fashioning.
"This bell comes from our oxen," I answered. "Will you give it to me? It
has no value."
"What," asked the dealer, laughing, "do you want to hang bells at your
neck too, friend Bull? It is your right. Here, take it. I brought it
only to know from you if the yoke it came from was of your family's
chariot."
"Yes," I replied, putting the bell into my breeches pocket, as, perhaps,
the only reminder of the past which might be left to me. "Yes, that yoke
was ours. But it seems to me that I saw two of the oxen fall wounded in
the fight."
"You are not mistaken. Two of the oxen were killed in the battle. The
other two, though slightly wounded, are alive, and were bought by one of
my companions, who also bought three children left in the chariot. Two
of them, a little boy and a little girl of about eight or nine, still
had the cord around their necks. But my companion who found them was
luckily able to bring them back to life."
"Where is that merchant?" I asked, in a tremble.
"Here, at Vannes. You will see him to-morrow. We drew lots for our
places at the auction, our stands are opposite to each other. If the
children he is to sell are yours, you will be near them."
"Shall I be really close?"
"You will be as close to them as twice the length of your room. But why
do you press your hands to your forehead?"
"I don't know. It is a long time since I have drunk wine. The glow of
what you poured out to me has gone to my head--a few seconds ago--I feel
giddy."
"That proves, friend Bull, that my wine is generous," answered the
"horse-dealer" with a strange smile, and stepping out, he called to one
of the keepers. Presently he returned with a chest under his arm. He
carefully shut the door, and hung a piece of curtain before the window,
to prevent anyone looking from without into the room, which was now
lighted by a lamp. That done, he again passed his eyes very attentively
over me, without saying a word, all the while opening his chest, from
which he took several flasks, sponges, a little silver vase with a long
curved tube, and also several instruments, one of which seemed very
keen. I watched my master closely, feeling an inexplicable numbness
gradually creeping over me. My heavy eye-lids fell once or twice in
spite of myself. I had been seated on my bed of straw, to which I was
still chained; but now I was compelled to lean my head against the wall,
so heavy had it grown. Noticing the effect of the wine upon me, the
"horse-dealer" said:
"Friend Bull, do not be disturbed at what is happening to you."
"What--" I answered, trying to shake off my stupor, "What is happening
to me?"
"You feel a sort of half-drowse creeping over you in spite of your
resistance."
"True."
"You hear me, you see me, but as if your ears and eyes were covered with
a veil."
"It is true," I murmured, for my voice also was growing weak, and
without experiencing any pain, my whole life seemed to be little by
little ebbing out. Nevertheless, I made an effort, and said to the man:
"Why am I in this condition!"
"Because I have prepared you for the slaves' toilet."
"A toilet?"
"I possess, friend Bull, certain magic philters to increase the
attractiveness of my merchandise. Although you are now quite well filled
out, the deprivation of exercise and the open air, the fever which your
wounds caused, the sadness which captivity always occasions, and many
other things, have dried and dulled your skin, and turned you yellow.
But thanks to my philters, to-morrow morning you will have a skin as
fresh and sleek, and a color as ruddy as if you were coming in from the
fields some lovely spring morning, my fine rustic. That appearance will
last barely a day or two, but I expect, by Jupiter, to have you sold by
to-morrow evening, free to turn yellow and waste away under your new
master. So I am going to commence by stripping you, and anointing you
with this preparation of oil." The "horse-dealer" unlocked one of his
flasks.[23]
The performance affected me as so deep a disgrace put upon my dignity,
that in spite of the numbness which was more and more depressing me, I
sprang to my feet, and shaking my hands and arms, then unshackled, cried
out:
"To-day I have no manacles on. If you come near I will strangle you!"
"I foresaw all that, friend Bull," chuckled the "horse-dealer," calmly
pouring the oil of his flask into a vase and soaking a sponge in it. "I
knew you would get hot and resist. I might have had you bound by the
keepers, but in your violence you would have bruised your limbs, a
detestable sign for the sale. These bruises always denote a stubborn
slave. And all the time, what cries you would have let out! What a
rebellion, when your head had to be shaved, in token of your slavery!"
At this last insulting threat, I called up all my remaining strength. I
arose, and threateningly cried out at the dealer:
"By Ritha-Gaur, the saint of the Gauls, who made himself a shirt of the
beards of the kings he had shaved, if you dare to touch a single hair of
my head, I'll kill you!"[24]
"Oh, oh! Reassure yourself, friend Bull," answered the "horse-dealer,"
pointing to his little sharp instrument. "Reassure yourself. I shall not
cut a single one of your hairs--but all."
I could retain my standing position no longer. Swaying on my legs like a
drunken man, I fell back on the straw, and heard the "horse-dealer"
burst out laughing, and, while still pointing at his steel instrument,
say:
"Thanks to this, your forehead will soon be as bald as that of the great
Caesar, whom, you say, you carried on your horse in full armor. And the
magic philter which you drank in that Gallic wine will put you at my
mercy, quiet as a corpse."
The "horse-dealer" spoke true. These words were the last I remember. A
leaden torpor fell upon me, and I lost all knowledge of what was done
with me.