Selene and Helios were baptized, and two days after dame Hannah with
her adopted children and Mary, escorted by the presbyter Hilarion and
a deacon, embarked in the harbor of Mareotis on board a Nile-boat which
was to convey them to their new home, the town of Besa in Upper Egypt.
The deformed girl had hesitated as to her answer to the widow’s question
whether she would accompany her. Her old mother dwelt in Alexandria, and
then--but it was this “then” which helped her abruptly to cut short
all reflection and to pronounce a decided “yes,” for it referred to
Antinous.
For a few minutes it had seemed unendurable to think that she should
never see him again, for she could not help often thinking of the
beautiful youth, and her whole heart ought to belong solely to the One
who had with His blood purchased peace for her on earth and bliss in the
world to come.
The day after being baptized, Selene had gone to Paulina’s town-house,
and there, with many tears had taken leave of Arsinoe. All the affection
which bound the sisters together found expression at this moment of
parting. Selene had heard from Paulina that Pollux was dead, and she
no longer grudged her rival sister that she grieved for him more
passionately than herself, though at first her peace of mind had more
than once been disturbed by memories of her old playfellow.
She felt it hard to leave Alexandria, where most of her brothers and
sisters were left behind, and yet she rejoiced to think of a distant
home, for she was no longer the same creature that she had been a few
months since, and she longed for a remote scene of a new and sanctified
life.
Eumenes and Hannah were in the right. It was not the widow but the
little blind boy who had won her to Christianity. The child’s influence
had proceeded in a strange course. In the first instance the promises of
the slave Master that Helios should some day meet his father again in a
shining realm among beautiful angels had a powerful effect on the blind
child’s tender heart and vivid imagination. In Hannah’s house his hopes
had received fresh nurture, and Mary and the widow told him much about
their kind and loving God and His Son who loved children and had invited
them to come to Him. When Selene began to recover and he was permitted
to talk to her he poured out to her all his delight at what he had heard
from the women. At first, to be sure, his sister took no pleasure in
these fanciful fables and tried to shake his belief and lead back
his heart to the old gods. But while she tried to guide the child, by
degrees she felt compelled to follow in his path; at first with wavering
steps, but dame Hannah helped her by her example and with many words
of good counsel. She only taught her doctrine when the girl asked her
questions and begged for information. All that here surrounded Selene
breathed of love and peace, and the child felt this, spoke of it, forced
her to acknowledge it, and, in his own person, was the first object on
which to exercise a wish hitherto unknown to her, to be herself loving
and lovable. The boy’s firm faith, which was not to be shaken by any
reasoning or by any of the myths which she knew, touched her deeply and
led to her asking Hannah what was the real bearing of one and another of
his statements. It had always seemed a comfort to her that the miseries
of our earthly life would come to an end with death; but Helios left her
without a reply when he said in a sad voice:
“Do you feel no longing, then, to see our father and mother again?”
To see her mother again! This thought gave her an interest in the next
world, and dame Hannah fanned the spark of hope in her soul into flame.
Selene had seen and suffered much misery, and was accustomed to call the
gods cruel. Helios told her that God and the Saviour were good and kind,
and loved human beings as their children.
“Is it not good and kind,” asked he, “of our Heavenly Father to lead us
to dame Hannah?”
“Yes, but we have all been torn apart,” said Selene. “Never mind,” said
the child confidently, “we shall all meet in Heaven.”
As she got well Selene asked after each of the children and Hannah
described all the families into which they had been received. The widow
did not look as if she spoke falsely, and the little ones, when they
came to see her, confirmed her report, and yet Selene could hardly
believe in the accuracy of the pictures drawn of their lives in the
houses of the Christians.
The mother of a Christian family--says a great Christian teacher--should
be the pride of her children, the wife the pride of her husband, husband
and children the pride of the wife, and God the pride and glory of every
member of the household. Love and faith in fact the bond, contentment
and virtuous living the law of the family; and it was in just such a
pure and beneficent atmosphere, as Selene herself and Helios felt the
blessing of in Hannah’s house, that each and all of her brothers and
sisters were growing up. Her upright sense gave an honest answer when
she asked herself what would have become of them all if her father had
remained alive and had been dispossessed of his office? They must all
have perished in misery and degradation.
And now?--Perhaps in truth the Divine Being had dealt in kindness with
the children.
Love, love, and again love, was breathed from all she saw and heard, and
yet--was it not love that had caused her greatest sorrows. Wherefore
had it been her lot to endure so much through the same sentiment which
beautified life to others? Had any one ever had more to suffer than
she? Aye indeed! A vivacious, eager youth had duped her and had promised
happiness to her sister instead of to her; it had been hard to bear--and
yet, the Saviour of whom Hellos had told her, had been far more severely
tried. Mankind, for whom He--the Son of God--had come down upon earth,
to save from misery and guilt, had rewarded His loving kindness by
hanging Him on the cross. In Him she could see a companion in suffering
and she asked the widow to tell her all about Him. Selene had made
many sacrifices to her family--she could never forget her walk to the
papyrus-factory--but He had let them mock Him and had shed His blood
for His own. And who was she?--and who was He? The Son of God. His image
became dear to her; she was never weary of hearing about His life and
fate, His words and deeds; and without her observing it the day came
when her soul was free to receive the teaching of Christ with fervent
longing. With faith she acquired that consciousness of guilt which had
previously been unknown to her. She had been busy and industrious out
of pride and fear, but never from love; she had selfishly tried to fling
from her the sacred gift of life without ever thinking what would become
of those whom it was her duty to care for. She had cursed her lovely
sister who needed her protection and care, and even Pollux, her
childhood’s playfellow; and a thousand times had she imprecated the
ruler of human destinies. All this she now keenly felt with all the
earnestness natural to her, but she was soothed by the tidings that
there was One who had redeemed the world, and taken on Himself the sins
of every repentant sinner.
After Selene had once expressed to the widow her desire to be a
Christian, Hannah brought the bishop to see her. He himself undertook to
instruct the girl and he found in her a disciple anxious and craving for
knowledge. Just like those dried-up and dull-colored plants which,
when they are plunged in water, open out and revive, so did her heart,
untimely withered and dry; and she longed to be perfectly recovered
that she, like Hannah, might tend the sick and exercise that love which
Christ demands of His followers. That which most particularly appealed
to her in her new faith was that it did not promise joys to the rich
who could make great sacrifices, but to the miserable sinner who with a
contrite heart yearned for forgiveness, to the poor and abject, towards
whom she felt as though they belonged to the same family as herself. And
her valiant spirit could not be satisfied with intentions but longed
to act upon them. In Besa she could set to work with Hannah, and this
prospect lightened her grief in quitting Alexandria.
A favoring wind bore the voyagers southward safe to their destination.
Two days after their departure Antinous once more stole into Paulina’s
garden. He went up to the widow’s little house looking in vain for the
deformed girl; the road was open; her absence could but be pleasing
to him, and yet it disquieted him. His heart beat wildly, for
to-day--perhaps he might find Selene alone. He opened the door without
knocking, but he dared not cross the threshold, for in the anteroom
stood a strange man, placing boards against the wall. The carpenter, a
Christian to whom Paulina had given this little house for his family to
live in, asked Antinous what he wanted.
“Is dame Hannah at home?” stammered the Bithynian.
“She no longer lives here.”
“And her adopted daughter, Selene?”
“She is gone with her into Upper Egypt. Have you any message for her?”
“No,” said the lad, quite confounded.
“When did they go?”
“The day before yesterday.”
“And they are not coming back.”
“For the next few years, certainly not. Later may be, if it is the
Lord’s pleasure.”
Antinous left the garden by the public gate, unmolested. He was very
pale, and he felt like a wanderer in the desert who finds the spring
choked where he had hoped to find a refreshing draught.
Next day, at the first moment he could dispose of, Antinous again
knocked at the carpenter’s door to inquire in what town of Upper Egypt
the travellers proposed to settle and the artisan told him frankly, “In
Besa.”
Antinous had always been a dreamer, but Hadrian had never seen him so
listless, so vaguely brooding as in these days. When he tried to rouse
him and spur him to greater energy his favorite would look at him
beseechingly, and though he made every effort to be of use to him and
to show him a cheerful countenance it was always with but brief success.
Even on the hunting excursions into the Libyan desert which the Emperor
frequently made, Antinous remained apathetic and indifferent to the
pleasures of the sport to which he had formerly devoted himself with
enjoyment and skill.
The Emperor had remained in Alexandria longer than in any other place,
and was weary of festivities and banquets, of the wordy war with the
philosophers of the Museum, of conversing with the ecstatic mystics, the
soothsayers; astrologers and empirics with whom the place swarmed. And
the short audiences which he accorded to the heads of the different
religious communities, and the inspection of the factories and workshops
of this centre of industry, began to annoy him. One day he announced his
intention of visiting the southern provinces of the Nile valley.
The high-priests of the native Egyptian faith had craved this favor
of him, and he was prompted, not only by his love of information and
passion for travelling, but also by considerations of state-craft, to
gratify this desire of a hierarchy which was extremely influential in
those rich and important provinces. The prospect of seeing with his
own eyes those marvels of Pharaonic times which attracted so many
travellers, was also an incitement, and his good spirits rose as soon as
he observed what a reviving effect his determination to visit southern
Egypt had upon Antinous.
His favorite had for the last few weeks expressed not the smallest
pleasure at any single thing. The homage paid him no less by the
Alexandrian than by the Roman ladies of rank sickened him. At banquets
he sat a silent guest whose neighborhood could not add to anybody’s
pleasure, and even the most brilliant and exciting exhibitions in the
Circus and the best contests and races in the Hippodrome had hardly
sufficed to attract his gaze. Formerly he had been an eager and
attentive spectator of the plays of Menander and of his imitators,
Alexis, Apollodorus and Posidippus; but now when they were performed he
stared into vacancy and thought of Selene. The prospect of going to
the place where she was living excited him powerfully and revived his
drooping courage for life. He could hope once more, and to the man who
sees light shining in the future the present is no longer dark.
Hadrian rejoiced in this change in the lad and hastened the preparations
for their departure; still, some months passed before he could begin his
journey.
In the first place he had to provide for newly colonizing Libya, which
had been depopulated by a revolt of the Jews. Then he had to come to
a determination as to certain new post-roads which were to connect the
different parts of the empire more nearly, and finally he had to await
the formal assent of the Roman Senate to some new resolutions concerning
the hereditary reversion of conferred free-citizenship. This assent
was, no doubt a matter of course, but the Emperor never issued an edict
without it, and he was very desirous that his decree should come into
operation as soon as possible.
In the course of his visits to the Museum the sovereign had informed
himself as to the position of the several members of that institution,
and he was occupied in making certain regulations which should relieve
them of the more sordid cares of life; the condition of the aged
teachers and educators of the young had also attracted his observation,
and he had endeavored to improve it.
When Sabina represented to him what a large outlay these new measures
would entail, he replied:
“We do not allow the veterans to perish who placed their lives, and
limbs at the service of the state. Why then should those who serve it
with their intellect be burdened with petty cares? Which should we rank
the higher, power and poverty or mental wealth? The harder I--as the
sovereign--find it to answer the question the more positively do I feel
it to be my duty to mete out the same measure to all veterans alike,
whether officials, warriors or instructors.”
The Alexandrians themselves detained him too by a succession of new acts
of homage. They raised him to the rank of a divinity, dedicated a temple
to him, and instituted a series of new festivals in his honor; partly
no doubt to win his partiality for their city and to express their
pride and satisfaction in his long stay there, but also because the
pleasure-loving community was glad to seize this opportunity as a
favorable one for gratifying their own inclinations and revelling in
mere unusual enjoyment. Thus the Imperial visit swallowed up millions,
and Hadrian, who enquired into every detail and contrived to obtain
information as to the sums expended by the city, blamed the recklessness
of his lavish entertainers. He wrote afterwards to his brother-in-law,
Servianus, his fullest recognition of both the wealth and the industry
of Alexandrians, saying, with terms of praise, that among them not one
was idle. One made glass, another papyrus, another linen; and each of
these restless mortals, said he, is busied in some handiwork. Even
the lame, the blind and the maimed here sought and found employment.
Nevertheless he calls the Alexandrians a contumacious and
good-for-nothing community, with sharp and evil tongues that had spared
neither Verus nor Antinous. Jews, Christians, and the votaries of
Serapis, he adds in the same letter, serve but one God instead of the
divinities of Olympus, and when he asserts of the Christians that they
even worshipped Serapis he means to say that they were persuaded of
the doctrine of the survival of the soul after death. The dispute as to
which temple should be assigned as the residence of the newly-found Apis
gave Hadrian much to do. From time immemorial this sacred bull had been
kept in the temple of Ptah at Memphis, but this venerable city of the
Pyramids had been outstripped by Alexandria, and the temple of Serapis
outvied that at Memphis in the province of Sokari, tenfold in size and
in magnificence. The Egyptians of Alexandria, who dwelt in the quarter
called Rhakotis, close to the Serapeum, desired to have the incarnation
of the god in the form of a bull, in their midst; but the Memphites
would not abandon their old prescriptive rights, and the Emperor
had found it far from easy to guide the contest, which proved a very
exciting one to all parties, to a satisfactory issue. Memphis had its
Apis, and the Serapeum was indemnified by certain endowments which had
formerly been granted to the temple at Memphis.
At last, in June, the Emperor could set out. He wished to traverse the
province on foot and on horseback, and Sabina was to follow by boat as
soon as the inundation should begin.
The Empress would gladly have returned to Rome or to Tibur, for Verus
had been obliged to quit Egypt by the orders of the physician as soon as
the summer heat had set in. He departed with his wife, as the son of
the Imperial couple, but no word on Hadrian’s part had justified him in
hoping confidently to be nominated as his successor to the sovereignty.
The handsome rake’s unlimited dissipations were severely checked by his
sufferings, but not altogether prevented, and on his return to Rome he
continued to indulge in all the pleasures of life. Hadrian’s hesitation
and reluctance often disquieted him, for that imperial Sphinx had,
only too frequently, given the most unexpected solutions to his
mystifications. But the fatal end with which he had been threatened
caused him small anxiety; nay, Ben Jochai’s prediction rather prompted
him to enjoy to the utmost every hour of health and ease that Fate might
still allow him.