Without even vouchsafing Hanno another glance, Ledscha glided forward in
the shadow of the bushes to the great sycamore, whose thick, broad top on
the side toward the tents was striped with light from the flood of
radiance streaming from them. On the opposite side the leafage vanished
in the darkness of the night, but Myrtilus had had a bench placed there,
that he might rest in the shade, and from this spot the girl could obtain
the best view of what she desired to see.
How gay and animated it was under the awning!
A throng of companions had arrived with the Pelusinians, and some also
had probably been on the ship which--she knew it from Bias--had come to
Tennis directly from Alexandria that afternoon. The galley was said to
belong to Philotas, an aristocratic relative of King Ptolemy. If she was
not mistaken, he was the stately young Greek who was just picking up the
ostrich-feather fan that had slipped from Daphne's lap.
The performance was over.
Young slaves in gay garments, and nimble female servants with glittering
gold circlets round their upper arms and on their ankles, were passing
from couch to couch, and from one guest to another, offering
refreshments. Hermon had risen from his knees, and the wreath of bright
flowers again adorned his black curls. He held himself as proudly erect
as if the goddess of Victory herself had crowned him, while Althea was
reaping applause and thanks. Ledscha gazed past her and the others to
watch every movement of the sculptor.
It was scarcely the daughter of Archias who had detained Hermon, for he
made only a brief answer--Ledscha could not hear what it was--when she
accosted him pleasantly, to devote himself to Althea, and--this could
be perceived even at a distance--thank her with ardent devotion.
And now--now he even raised the hem of her peplos to his lips.
A scornful smile hovered around Ledscha's mouth; but Daphne's guests also
noticed this mark of homage--an unusual one in their circle--and young
Philotas, who had followed Daphne from Alexandria, cast a significant
glance at a man with a smooth, thin, birdlike face, whose hair was
already turning gray. His name was Proclus, and, as grammateus of the
Dionysian games and high priest of Apollo, he was one of the most
influential men in Alexandria, especially as he was one of the favoured
courtiers of Queen Arsinoe.
He had gone by her command to the Syrian court, had enjoyed on his
return, at Pelusium, with his travelling companion Althea, the
hospitality of Philippus, and accompanied the venerable officer to Tennis
in order to win him over to certain plans. In spite of his advanced age,
he still strove to gain the favour of fair women, and the sculptor's
excessive ardour had displeased him.
So he let his somewhat mocking glance wander from Althea to Hermon, and
called to the latter: "My congratulations, young master; but I need
scarcely remind you that Nike suffers no one--not even goodness and grace
personified--to take from her hand what it is her sole duty to bestow."
While speaking he adjusted the laurel on his own thin hair; but Thyone,
the wife of Philippus, answered eagerly: "If I were a young man like
Hermon, instead of an old woman, noble Proclus, I think the wreath which
Beauty bestows would render me scarcely less happy than stern Nike's
crown of victory."
While making this pleasant reply the matron's wrinkled face wore an
expression of such cordial kindness, and her deep voice was so winning in
its melody, that Hermon forced himself to heed the glance of urgent
warning Daphne cast at him, and leave the sharp retort that hovered on
his lips unuttered. Turning half to the grammateus, half to the matron,
he merely said, in a cold, self-conscious tone, that Thyone was right.
In this gay circle, the wreath of bright flowers proffered by the hands
of a beautiful woman was the dearest of all gifts, and he would know how
to value it.
"Until other more precious ones cast it into oblivion," observed Althea.
"Let me see, Hermon: ivy and roses. The former is lasting, but the
roses--" She shook her finger in roguish menace at the sculptor as she
spoke.
"The roses," Proclus broke in again, "are of course the most welcome to
our young friend from such a hand; yet these flowers of the goddess of
Beauty have little in common with his art, which is hostile to beauty.
Still, I do not know what wreath will be offered to the new tendency with
which he surprised us."
At this Hermon raised his head higher, and answered sharply: "Doubtless
there must have been few of them, since you, who are so often among the
judges, do not know them. At any rate, those which justice bestows have
hitherto been lacking."
"I should deplore that," replied Proclus, stroking his sharp chin with
his thumb and forefinger; "but I fear that our beautiful Nike also cared
little for this lofty virtue of the judge in the last coronation.
However, her immortal model lacks it often enough."
"Because she is a woman," said one of the young officers, laughing; and
another added gaily: "That very thing may be acceptable to us soldiers.
For my part, I think everything about the goddess of Victory is beautiful
and just, that she may remain graciously disposed toward us. Nay, I
accuse the noble Althea of withholding from Nike, in her personation, her
special ornament--her swift, powerful wings."
"She gave those to Eros, to speed his flight," laughed Proclus,
casting a meaning look at Althea and Hermon.
No one failed to notice that this jest alluded to the love which seemed
to have been awakened in the sculptor as quickly as in the personator of
the goddess of Victory, and, while it excited the merriment of the
others, the blood mounted into Hermon's cheeks; but Myrtilus perceived
what was passing in the mind of his irritable friend, and, as the
grammateus praised Nike because in this coronation she had omitted the
laurel, the fair-haired Greek interrupted him with the exclamation:
"Quite right, noble Proclus, the grave laurel does not suit our gay
pastime; but roses belong to the artist everywhere, and are always
welcome to him. The more, the better!"
"Then we will wait till the laurel is distributed in some other place,"
replied the grammateus; and Myrtilus quickly added, "I will answer for it
that Hermon does not leave it empty-handed."
"No one will greet the work which brings your friend the wreath of
victory with warmer joy," Proclus protested. "But, if I am correctly
informed, yonder house hides completed treasures whose inspection would
give the fitting consecration to this happy meeting. Do you know what
an exquisite effect gold and ivory statues produce in a full glow of
lamplight? I first learned it a short time ago at the court of King
Antiochus. There is no lack of lights here. What do you say, gentlemen?
Will you not have the studios lighted till the rooms are as bright as
day, and add a noble enjoyment of art to the pleasures of this wonderful
night?"
But Hermon and Myrtilus opposed this proposal with equal decision.
Their refusal awakened keen regret, and the old commandant of Pelusium
would not willingly yield to it.
Angrily shaking his large head, around which, in spite of his advanced
age, thick snowwhite locks floated like a lion's mane, he exclaimed,
"Must we then really return to our Pelusium, where Ares restricts the
native rights of the Muses, without having admired the noble works which
arose in such mysterious secrecy here, where Arachne rules and swings the
weaver's shuttle?"
"But my two cruel cousins have closed their doors even upon me, who came
here for the sake of their works," Daphne interrupted, "and, as rather
Zeus is threatening a storm--just see what black clouds are rising!--we
ought not to urge our artists further; a solemn oath forbids them to show
their creations now to any one."
This earnest assurance silenced the curious, and, while the conversation
took another turn, the gray-haired general's wife drew Myrtilus aside.
Hermon's parents had been intimate friends of her own, as well as of her
husband's, and with the interest of sincere affection she desired to know
whether the young sculptor could really hope for the success of which
Myrtilus had just spoken.
It was years since she had visited Alexandria, but what she heard of
Hermon's artistic work from many guests, and now again through Proclus,
filled her with anxiety.
He had succeeded, it was said, in attracting attention, and his great
talent was beyond question; but in this age, to which beauty was as much
one of the necessities of life as bread and wine, and which could not
separate it from art, he ventured to deny it recognition. He headed a
current in art which was striving to destroy what had been proved and
acknowledged, yet, though his creations were undeniably powerful, and
even showed many other admirable qualities, instead of pleasing,
satisfying, and ennobling, they repelled.
These opinions had troubled the matron, who understood men, and was the
more disposed to credit them the more distinctly she perceived traces of
discontent and instability in Hermon's manner during the present meeting.
So it afforded her special pleasure to learn from Myrtilus his firm
conviction that, in Arachne, Hermon would produce a masterpiece which
could scarcely be excelled.
During this conversation Althea had come to Thyone's side, and, as Hermon
had already spoken to her of the Arachne, she eagerly expressed her
belief that this work seemed as if it were specially created for him.
The Greek matron leaned back comfortably upon her cushions, her wrinkled,
owl-like face assumed a cheerful expression, and, with the easy
confidence conferred by aristocratic birth, a distinguished social
position, and a light heart, she exclaimed: "Lucifer is probably already
behind yonder clouds, preparing to announce day, and this exquisite
banquet ought to have a close worthy of it. What do you say, you wonder-
working darling of the Muses"--she held out her hand to Althea as she
spoke--" to showing us and the two competing artists yonder the model of
the Arachne they are to represent in gold and ivory?"
Althea fixed her eyes upon the ground, and, after a short period of
reflection, answered hesitatingly: "The task which you set before me is
certainly no easy one, but I shall rely upon your indulgence."
"She will!" cried the matron to the others.
Then, clapping her hands, she continued gaily, in the tone of the
director of an entertainment issuing invitations to a performance: "Your
attention is requested! In this city of weavers the noble Thracian,
Althea, will depict before you all the weaver of weavers, Arachne, in
person."
"Take heed and follow my advice to sharpen your eyes," added Philotas,
who, conscious of his inferiority in intellect and talents to the men and
women assembled here, took advantage of this opportunity to assert
himself in a manner suited to his aristocratic birth. "This artistic yet
hapless Arachne, if any one, teaches the lesson how the lofty Olympians
punish those who venture to place themselves on the same level; so let
artists beware. We stepchildren of the Muse can lull ourselves
comfortably in the assurance of not giving the jealous gods the slightest
cause for the doom which overtook the pitiable weaver."
Not a word of this declaration of the Macedonian aristocrat escaped the
listening Ledscha. Scales seemed to fall from her eves. Hermon had won
her love in order to use her for the model of his statue of Arachne, and,
now that he had met Althea, who perhaps suited his purpose even better,
he no longer needed the barbarian. He had cast her aside like a tight
shoe as soon as he found a more acceptable one in this female juggler.
The girl had already asked herself, with a slight thrill of horror,
whether she had not prematurely called down so terrible a punishment
upon her lover; now she rejoiced in her swift action. If anything else
remained for her to do, it was to make the vengeance with which she
intended to requite him still more severe.
There he stood beside the woman she hated. Could he bestow even one poor
thought upon the Biamite girl and the wrong he had inflicted?
Oh, no! His heart was filled to overflowing by the Greek--every look
revealed it.
What was the shameless creature probably whispering to him now?
Perhaps a meeting was just being granted. The rapture which had been
predicted to her for this moonlight night, and of which Hermon had robbed
her, was mirrored in his features. He could think of everything except
her and her poor, crushed heart.
But Ledscha was mistaken. Althea had asked the sculptor whether he still
regretted having been detained by her before midnight, and he had
confessed that his remaining at the banquet had been connected with a
great sacrifice--nay, with an offence which weighed heavily on his mind.
Yet he was grateful to the favour of the gods that had guided his
decision, for Althea had it in her power to compensate him richly for
what he had lost.
A glance full of promise flashed upon him from her eloquent eyes, and,
turning toward the pedestal at the same instant, she asked softly, "Is
the compensation I must and will bestow connected with the Arachne?"
An eager "Yes" confirmed this question, and a swift movement of her
expressive lips showed him that his boldest anticipations were to be
surpassed.
How gladly he would have detained her longer!--but she was already the
object of all eyes, and his, too, followed her in expectant suspense as
she gave an order to the female attendant and then stood thoughtfully for
some time before the platform.
When she at last ascended it, the spectators supposed that she would
again use a cloth; but, instead of asking anything more from the
assistants, she cast aside even the peplos that covered her shoulders.
Now, almost lean in her slenderness, she stood with downcast eyes; but
suddenly she loosed the double chain, adorned with flashing gems, from
her neck, the circlets from her upper arms and wrists, and, lastly, even
the diadem, a gift bestowed by her relative, Queen Arsinoe, from her
narrow brow.
The female slaves received them, and then with swift movements Althea
divided her thick long tresses of red hair into narrower strands, which
she flung over her back, bosom, and shoulders.
Next, as if delirious, she threw her head so far on one side that it
almost touched her left shoulder, and stared wildly upward toward the
right, at the same time raising her bare arms so high that they extended
far above her head.
It was again her purpose to present the appearance of defending herself
against a viewless power, yet she was wholly unlike the Niobe whom she
had formerly personated, for not only anguish, horror, and defiance, but
deep despair and inexpressible astonishment were portrayed by her
features, which obediently expressed the slightest emotion.
Something unprecedented, incomprehensible even to herself, was occurring,
and to Ledscha, who watched her with an expectation as passionate as if
her own weal and woe depended upon Althea's every movement, it seemed as
if an unintelligible marvel was happening before her eyes, and a still
greater one was impending; for was the woman up there really a woman like
herself and the others whose eyes were now fixed upon the hated actress
no less intently than her own?
Did her keen senses deceive her, or was not what was occurring actually
a mysterious transformation?
As Althea stood there, her delicate arms seemed to have lengthened and
lost even their slight roundness, her figure to have become even more
slender and incorporeal, and how strangely her thin fingers spread apart!
How stiffly the strands of the parted, wholly uncurled locks stood out in
the air!
Did it not seem as if they were to help her move?
The black shadow which Althea's figure and limbs cast upon the surface of
the brightly lighted pedestal-no, it was no deception, it not only
resembled the spinner among insects, it presented the exact picture of a
spider.
The Greek's slender body had contracted, her delicate arms and narrow
braids of hair changed into spider legs, and the many-jointed hands were
already grasping for their prey like a spider, or preparing to wind the
murderous threads around another living creature.
"Arachne, the spider!" fell almost inaudibly from her quivering lips,
and, overpowered by torturing fear, she was already turning away from the
frightful image, when the storm of applause which burst from the
Alexandrian guests soothed her excited imagination.
Instead of the spider, a slender, lank woman, with long, outstretched
bare arms, and fingers spread wide apart, fluttering hair, and wandering
eyes again stood before Ledscha.
But no peace was yet granted to her throbbing heart, for while Althea,
with perspiring brow and quivering lips, descended from the pedestal, and
was received with loud demonstrations of astonishment and delight, the
glare of a flash of lightning burst through the clouds, and a loud peal
of thunder shook the night air and reverberated a long time over the
water.
At the same instant a loud cry rang from beneath the canopy.
Thyone, the wife of Alexander the Great's comrade, though absolutely
fearless in the presence of human foes, dreaded the thunder by which Zeus
announced his anger. Seized with sudden terror, she commanded a slave to
obtain a black lamb for a sacrifice, and earnestly entreated her husband
and her other companions to go on board the ship with her and seek
shelter in its safe, rain-proof cabin, for already heavy drops were
beginning to fall upon the tensely drawn awning.
"Nemesis!" exclaimed the grammateus.
"Nemesis!" whispered young Philotas to Daphne in a confidential murmur,
throwing his own costly purple cloak around her to shield her from the
rain. "Nowhere that we mortals overstep the bounds allotted to us do we
await her in vain."
Then bending down to her again, he added, by way of explanation: "The
winged daughter of Night would prove herself negligent if she allowed me
to enjoy wholly without drawback the overwhelming happiness of being with
you once more."
"Nemesis!" remarked Thoas, an aristocratic young hipparch of the guards
of the Diadochi, who had studied in Athens and belonged to the
Peripatetics there. "The master sees in the figure of this goddess the
indignation which the good fortune of the base or the unworthy use of
good fortune inspires in us. She keeps the happy mean between envy and
malicious satisfaction." The young soldier looked around him, expecting
applause, but no one was listening; the tempest was spreading terror
among most of the freedmen and slaves.
Philotas and Myrtilus were following Daphne and her companion Chrysilla
as they hurried into the tent. The deep, commanding tones of old
Philippus vainly shouted the name of Althea, whom, as he had bestowed his
hospitality upon her in Pelusium, he regarded as his charge, while at
intervals he reprimanded the black slaves who were to carry his wife to
the ship, but at another heavy peal of thunder set down the litter to
throw themselves on their knees and beseech the angry god for mercy.
Gras, the steward whom Archias had given to his daughter, a Bithynian who
had attached himself to one school of philosophy after an other, and
thereby ceased to believe in the power of the Olympians, lost his quiet
composure in this confusion, and even his usual good nature deserted him.
With harsh words, and no less harsh blows, he rushed upon the servants,
who, instead of carrying the costly household utensils and embroidered
cushions into the tent, drew out their amulets and idols to confide their
own imperilled lives to the protection of higher powers.
Meanwhile the gusts of wind which accompanied the outbreak of the storm
extinguished the lamps and pitch-pans. The awning was torn from the
posts, and amid the wild confusion rang the commandant of Pelusium's
shouts for Althea and the screams of two Egyptian slave women, who, with
their foreheads pressed to the ground, were praying, while the angry Gras
was trying, by kicks and blows, to compel them to rise and go to work.
The officers were holding a whispered consultation whether they should
accept the invitation of Proclus and spend the short remnant of the night
on his galley over the wine, or first, according to the counsel of their
pious commandant, wait in the neighbouring temple of Zeus until the storm
was over.
The tempest had completely scattered Daphne's guests. Even Ledscha
glanced very rarely toward the tents. She had thrown her self on the
ground under the sycamore to beseech the angry deity for mercy, but,
deeply as fear moved her agitated soul, she could not pray, but listened
anxiously whenever an unexpected noise came from the meeting place of the
Greeks.
Then the tones of a familiar voice reached her. It was Hermon's, and the
person to whom he was speaking could be no one but the uncanny spider-
woman, Althea.
They were coming to have a secret conversation under the shade of the
dense foliage of the sycamore. That was easily perceived, and in an
instant Ledscha's fear yielded to a different feeling.
Holding her breath, she nestled close to the trunk of the ancient tree to
listen, and the first word she heard was the name "Nemesis," which had
just reached her from the tent.
She knew its meaning, for Tennis also had a little temple dedicated to
the terrible goddess, which was visited by the Egyptians and Biamites as
well as the Greeks.
A triumphant smile flitted over her unveiled features, for there was no
other divinity on whose aid she could more confidently rely. She could
unchain the vengeance which threatened Hermon with a far more terrible
danger than the thunder clouds above, under the protection--nay, as it
were at the behest of Nemesis.
To-morrow she would be the first to anoint her altar.
Now she rejoiced that her wealthy father imposed no restriction upon her
in the management of household affairs, for she need spare no expense in
choosing the animal she intended to offer as a sacrifice.
This reflection flashed through her mind with the speed of lightning
while she was listening to Althea's conversation with the sculptor.
"The question here can be no clever play upon the name and the nature of
the daughter of Erebus and Night," said the Thracian gravely. "I will
remind you that there is another Nemesis besides the just being who
drives from his stolen ease the unworthy mortal who suns himself in good
fortune. The Nemesis whom I will recall to-day, while angry Zeus is
hurling his thunderbolts, is the other, who chastises sacrilege--Ate, the
swiftest and most terrible of the Erinyes. I will invoke her wrath upon
you in this hour if you do not confess the truth to me fully and
entirely."
"Ask," Hermon interrupted in a hollow tone. "Only, you strange woman--"
"Only," she hastily broke in, "whatever the answer may be, I must pose
to you as the model for your Arachne--and perhaps it may come to that--
but first I must know, briefly and quickly, for they will be looking for
me immediately. Do you love Daphne?"
"No," he answered positively. "True, she has been dear to me from
childhood--"
"And," Althea added, completing the sentence, "you owe her father a debt
of gratitude. But that is not new to me; I know also how little reason
you gave her for loving you. Yet her heart belongs neither to Philotas,
the great lord with the little brain, nor to the famous sculptor
Myrtilus, whose body is really too delicate to bear all the laurels
with which he is overloaded, but to you, and you alone--I know it."
Hermon tried to contradict her, but Althea, without allowing him to
speak, went on hurriedly: "No matter! I wished to know whether you loved
her. True, according to appearances, your heart does not glow for her,
and hitherto you have disdained to transform by her aid, at a single
stroke, the poverty which ill suits you into wealth. But it was not
merely to speak of the daughter of Archias that I accompanied you into
this tempest, from which I would fain escape as quickly as possible. So
speak quickly. I am to serve you in your art, and yet, if I understood
you correctly, you have already found here another excellent model."
"A native of the country," answered Hermon in an embarrassed tone.
"And for my sake you allowed her to wait for you in vain?"
"It is as you say."
"And you had promised to seek her?"
"Certainly; but before the appointed hour came I met you. You rose
before me like a new sun, shedding a new light that was full of promise.
Everything else sank into darkness, and, if you will fulfil the hope
which you awakened in this heart--"
Just at that moment another flash of lightning blazed, and, while the
thunder still shook the air, Althea continued his interrupted
protestation: "Then you will give yourself to me, body and soul--but
Zeus, who hears oaths, is reminding us of his presence--and what will
await you if the Biamite whom you betrayed invokes the wrath of Nemesis
against you?"
"The Nemesis of the barbarians!" he retorted contemptuously. "She only
placed herself at the service of my art reluctantly; but you, Althea, if
you will loan yourself to me as a model, I shall succeed in doing my very
best; for you have just permitted me to behold a miracle, Arachne
herself, whom you became, you enchantress. It was real, actual life, and
that--that is the highest goal."
"The highest?" she asked hesitatingly. "You will have to represent
the female form, and beauty, Hermon, beauty?"
"Will be there, allied with truth," flamed Hermon, "if you, you peerless,
more than beautiful creature, keep your word to me. But you will! Let
me be sure of it. Is a little love also blended with the wish to serve
the artist?"
"A little love?" she repeated scornfully.
"This matter concerns love complete and full--or none. We will see each
other again to-morrow. Then show me what the model Althea is worth to
you."
With these words she vanished in the darkness, while the call of her name
again rang from the tents.
"Althea!" he cried in a tone of mournful reproach as he perceived her
disappearance, hurrying after her; but the dense gloom soon forced him to
give up the pursuit.
Ledscha, too, left her place beneath the sycamore.
She had seen and heard enough.
Duty now commanded her to execute vengeance, and the bold Hanno was ready
to risk his life for her.