The following day the sun shone radiantly, with scorching brilliancy,
upon Tennis and the archipelago, which at this season of the year
surrounded the little city of weavers.
Young Philotas, without going to rest, had set out at dawn in pursuit of
game, accompanied by a numerous hunting party, to which several of the
Pelusinian officers belonged. He, too, had brought home a great quantity
of booty, with which he had expected to awaken Daphne's admiration, and
to lay as a token of homage at her feet. He had intended to lead before
her garlanded slaves bearing, tied by ropes, bunches of slaughtered wild
fowl, but his reception was very different from what he had anticipated.
Instead of praising his exploit, he had been indignantly requested to
remove the poor, easily killed victims from her presence; and, wounded
and disappointed, he had retired to his magnificent Nile boat, where,
spent by his sleepless night, he slumbered so soundly on his soft
cushions that he did not appear at the breakfast which the gray-haired
commander of Pelusium had invited him to attend on his galley.
While the others were still feasting there, Daphne was enjoying an hour
alone with her companion Chrysilla.
She had remained absent from Philippus's banquet, and her pale cheeks
showed the ill effects produced by the excitement of the previous night.
A little before noon Hermon came to see her. He, too, had not gone to
the Pelusinian's breakfast.
After Althea had left him the evening before he went directly back to the
white house, and, instead of going to rest, devoted himself to Myrtilus;
for the difficulty of breathing, which during his industrious life in
quiet seclusion had not troubled him for several months, attacked him
with twofold violence after the gaiety of the previous night. Hermon had
not left him an instant until day brought the sufferer relief, and he no
longer needed the supporting hand of his kind nurse.
While Hermon, in his own sleeping room, ordered Bias to anoint his hair
and beard and put on festal garments, the slave told him certain things
that destroyed the last remnant of composure in his easily agitated soul.
With the firm resolution to keep the appointment on Pelican Island,
Hermon had gone at sunset, in response to the Alexandrian's invitation,
to attend her banquet, and by no means unwillingly, for his parents' old
friends were dear to him, and he knew by experience the beneficial
influence Daphne's sunny, warmhearted nature exerted upon him.
Yet this time he did not find what he expected.
In the first place, he had been obliged to witness how earnestly Philotas
was pressing his suit, and perceived that her companion Chrysilla was
most eagerly assisting him. As she saw in the young aristocrat a
suitable husband for the daughter of Archias, and it was her duty to
assign the guests their seats at the banquet, she had given the cushion
beside Daphne to Philotas, and also willingly fulfilled Althea's desire
to have Hermon for her neighbour.
When Chrysilla presented the black-bearded artist to the Thracian, she
would have sworn that Althea found an old acquaintance in the sculptor;
but Hermon treated the far-famed relative of Queen Arsinoe as coldly and
distantly as if he now saw her for the first time, and with little
pleasure.
In truth, he was glad to avoid women of Althea's stamp. For some time
he had preferred to associate with the common people, among whom he found
his best subjects, and kept far aloof from the court circles to which
Althea belonged, and which, thanks to his birth and his ability as an
artist, would easily have been accessible to him also.
The over-refined women who gave themselves airs of avoiding everything
which imposes a restraint upon Nature, and therefore, in their
transparent robes, treated with contempt all that modest Macedonian dames
deemed worthy of a genuine woman's consideration, were repulsive to him--
perhaps because they formed so rude a contrast to his noble dead mother
and to Daphne.
Although he had been very frequently in feminine society, Althea's manner
at first caused him a certain degree of embarrassment; for, in spite of
the fact that he believed he met her here for the first time, there was
something familiar about her, especially in the tone of her voice, and he
fancied that her first words were associated with some former ones.
Yet no! If he had ever met her, he would surely have remembered her red-
gold hair and the other peculiarities of a personality which was
remarkable in every respect.
It soon proved that they were total strangers, and he wished matters to
remain so.
He was glad that she attracted him so little, for at least she would
scarcely make the early departure to the Biamite, which he considered his
duty, a difficult task.
True, he admired from the first the rare milk-white line of her delicate
skin, which was wholly free from rouge--his artist eye perceived that and
the wonderfully beautiful shape of her hands and feet. The pose of the
head on the neck, too, as she turned toward him seemed remarkably fine.
This slender, pliant woman would have been an admirable model!
Again and again she reminded him of a gay Lesbian with whom he had
caroused for a night during the last Dionysia in Alexandria, yet, on
closer inspection, the two were as different as possible.
The former had been as free and reckless in her conduct as Althea was
reserved. The hair and eyebrows of the Lesbian, instead of reddish gold,
were the deepest black, and her complexion--he remembered it perfectly--
was much darker. The resemblance probably consisted merely in the shape
of the somewhat too narrow face, with its absolutely straight nose, and a
chin which was rather too small, as well as in the sound of the high
voice.
Not a serious word had reached his ears from the wanton lips of the
Lesbian, while Althea at once desired information concerning his art,
and showed that she was thoroughly familiar with the works and the
aspirations of the Alexandrian sculptors. Although aware that Hermon had
begun his career as an artist, and was the leader of a new tendency, she
pretended to belong to the old school, and thereby irritated him to
contradiction and the explanation of his efforts, which were rooted in
the demands of the present day and the life of the flourishing capital.
The Thracian listened to the description of the new art struggling to
present truth, as if these things were welcome surprises, grand
revelations, for which she had waited with eager longing. True, she
opposed every statement hostile to the old beliefs; but her extremely
expressive features soon betrayed to him that he was stirring her to
reflect, shaking her opinions, and winning her to his side.
Already, for the sake of the good cause, he devoted himself with the
utmost zeal to the task of convincing Althea; she, however, did not
make it an easy one, but presented clever arguments against his
assertions.
Whenever he or she, by way of example, mentioned any well-known work
of art, she imitated, as if involuntarily, its pose and action with
surprising fidelity, frequently also in admirable caricature, whose
effect was extremely comical. What a woman!
She was familiar with whatever Grecian art had created, and the animated
conversation became a bewitching spectacle. When the grammateus Proclus,
who as Althea's travelling companion had a certain claim upon her
attention, mingled for a while in the discussion and attracted Althea's
notice, Hermon felt injured, and answered his sensible remarks with such
rudeness that the elder man, whose social position was so much higher,
angrily turned his back upon him.
Althea had imposed a certain degree of restraint upon herself while
talking to the grammateus, but during the further conversation with
Hermon she confessed that she was decidedly of his opinion, and added to
the old reasons for the deposition of beauty and ideality in favour of
truth and reality new ones which surprised the sculptor. When she at
last offered him her hand for a firm alliance, his brain was fevered,
and it seemed a great honour when she asked eagerly what would occupy him
in the immediate future.
Passionate sympathy echoed in every word, was expressed in every feature,
and she listened as if a great happiness was in store for herself when he
disclosed the hopes which he based upon the statue of Arachne.
True, as time passed he had spoken more than once of the necessity of
retiring, and before midnight really tried to depart; but he had fallen
under Althea's thrall, and, in reply to her inquiry what must shorten
these exquisite hours, had informed her, in significant words, what drew
him away, and that his delay threatened him with the loss of a model such
as the favour of fate rarely bestowed upon an artist.
Now the Thracian for the first time permitted her eyes to make frank
confessions. She also bent forward with a natural movement to examine
the artistic work on a silver vase, and as while doing so her peplos fell
over his hand, she pressed it tenderly.
He gazed ardently up at her; but she whispered softly: "Stay! You will
gain through me something better than awaits you there, and not only for
to-day and to-morrow. We shall meet again in Alexandria, and to serve
your art there shall be a beloved duty."
His power of resistance was broken; yet he beckoned to his slave Bias,
who was busied with the mixing jars, and ordered him to seek Ledscha and
tell her not to wait longer; urgent duties detained him.
While he was giving this direction, Althea had become engaged in the gay
conversation of the others, and, as Thyone called Hermon, and he was also
obliged to speak to Daphne, he could not again obtain an opportunity for
private talk with the wonderful woman who held out far grander prospects
for his art than the refractory, rude Biamite maiden.
Soon Althea's performance seemed to prove how fortunate a choice he had
made. Her Arachne appeared like a revelation to him. If she kept her
promise, and he succeeded in modelling her in the pose assumed while
imagining the process of transformation, and presented her idea to the
spectators, the great success which hitherto--because he had not yielded
to demands which were opposed to his convictions--he had vainly expected,
could no longer escape him. The Alexandrian fellow-artists who belonged
to his party would gratefully welcome this special work; for what grew
out of it would have nothing in common with the fascination of superhuman
beauty, by which the older artists ensnared the hearts and minds of the
multitude. He would create a genuine woman, who would not lack defects,
yet who, though she inspired neither gratification nor rapture, would
touch, perhaps even thrill, the heart by absolute truth.
While Althea was standing on the pedestal, she had not only represented
the transformation into the spider, but experienced it, and the features
of the spectators revealed that they believed they were witnessing the
sinister event. His aim was now to awaken the same feeling in the
beholders of his Arachne. Nothing, nothing at all must be changed in the
figure of the model, in which many might miss the roundness and plumpness
so pleasing to the eye. Althea's very defects would perfect the figure
of the restless, wretched weaver whom Athene transformed into the spider.
While devoting himself to nursing his friend, he had thought far less of
the new love-happiness which, in spite of her swift flight, was probably
awaiting him through Althea than of the work which was to fill his
existence in the immediate future.
His healthy body, steeled in the palaestra, felt no fatigue after the
sleepless night passed amid so many powerful excitements when he retired
to his chamber and committed himself to the hands of his slave.
It had not been possible to hear his report before, but when he at last
received it Hermon was to learn something extremely unpleasant, and not
only because no word of apology or even explanation of his absence had
reached Ledscha.
Bias was little to blame for this neglect, for, in the first place, he
had found no boat to reach the Pelican Island, because half Tennis was on
the road to Tanis, where, on the night of the full moon, the brilliant
festivals of the full eye of Horns and the great Astarte were celebrated
by the mixed population of this place. When a boat which belonged to
Daphne's galley was finally given to him, the Biamite girl was no longer
at the place appointed for the meeting.
Hoping to find her on the Owl's Nest with old Tabus, he then landed
there, but had been so uncivilly rebuffed on the shore by a rough fellow
that he might be glad to have escaped with sound limbs. Lastly, he stole
to Ledscha's home, and, knowing that her father was absent, had ventured
as far as the open courtyard in the centre of the stately dwelling. The
dogs knew him, and as a light was shining from one of the rooms that
opened upon the courtyard, he peeped in and saw Taus, Ledscha's younger
sister. She was kneeling before the statue of a god at the back of the
room, weeping, while the old housekeeper had fallen asleep with the
distaff in her lap.
He called cautiously to the pretty child. She was awaiting the return of
her sister, who, she supposed, was still detained on the Owl's Nest by
old Tabus's predictions; she had sorrowful tidings for her.
The husband of her friend Gula had returned on his ship and learned that
his wife had gone to the Greek's studio. He had raged like a madman, and
turned the unfortunate woman pitilessly out of doors after sunset. Her
own parents had only been induced to receive her with great difficulty.
Paseth, the jealous husband, had spared her life and refrained from going
at once to kill the artist solely because Hermon had saved his little
daughter at his own peril from the burning house.
"Now," said Ledscha's pretty little sister, "it would also be known that
she had gone with Gula to his master, who was certainly a handsome man,
but for whom, now that young Smethis was wooing her, she cared no more
than she did for her runaway cat. All Tennis would point at her, and she
dared not even think what her father would do when he came home."
These communications had increased Hermon's anxiety.
He was a brave man, and did not fear the vengeance of the enraged
husband, against whom he was conscious of no guilt except having
persuaded his wife to commit an imprudence. What troubled him was only
the consciousness that he had given her and innocent little Taus every
reason to curse their meeting.
The ardent warmth with which Gula blessed him as the preserver of her
child had given him infinite pleasure. Now it seemed as if he had been
guilty of an act of baseness by inducing her to render a service which
was by no means free from danger, as though he wished to be paid for a
good deed.
Besides, the slave had represented the possible consequences of his
imprudence in the most gloomy light, and, with the assurance of knowing
the disposition of his fellow-countrymen, urged his master to leave
Tennis at once; the other Biamite men, who would bear anything rather
than the interference of a Greek in their married lives, might force
Gula's husband to take vengeance on him.
He said nothing about anxiety concerning his own safety, but he had good
reason to fear being regarded as a go-between and called to account for
it.
But his warnings and entreaties seemed to find deaf ears in Hermon.
True, he intended to leave Tennis as soon as possible, for what advantage
could he now find here? First, however, he must attend to the packing of
the statues, and then try to appease Ledscha, and make Gula's husband
understand that he was casting off his pretty wife unjustly.
He would not think of making a hasty departure, he told the slave,
especially as he was to meet Althea, Queen Arsinoe's art-appreciating
relative, in whom he had gained a friend, later in Alexandria.
Then Bias informed him of a discovery to which one of the Thracian's
slave women had helped him, and what he carelessly told his master drove
the blood from his cheeks, and, though his voice was almost stifled by
surprise and shame, made him assail him with questions.
What great thing had he revealed? There had been reckless gaiety at
every festival of Dionysus since he had been in the artist's service,
and the slaves had indulged in the festal mirth no less freely than the
masters. To intoxicate themselves with wine, the gift of the god to whom
they were paying homage, was not only permitted, but commanded, and the
juice of the grape proved its all-equalizing power.
There had been no lack of pretty companions even for him, the bondman,
and the most beautiful of all had made eyes at his master, the tall,
slender man with the splendid black beard.
The reckless Lesbian who had favoured Hermon at the last Dionysia had
played pranks with him madly enough, but then had suddenly vanished. By
his master's orders Bias had tried to find her again, but, in spite of
honest search, in vain.
Just now he had met, as Althea's maid, the little Syrian Margula, who had
been in her company, and raced along in the procession of bacchanals in
his, Bias's, arms. True, she could not be persuaded to make a frank
confession, but he, Bias, would let his right hand wither if Hermon's
companion at the Dionysia was any other than Althea. His master would
own that he was right if he imagined her with black hair instead of red.
Plenty of people in Alexandria practised the art of dyeing, and it was
well known that Queen Arsinoe herself willingly mingled in the throng at
the Dionysia with a handsome Ephebi, who did not suspect the identity of
his companion.
This was the information which had so deeply agitated Hermon, and then
led him, after pacing to and fro a short time, to go first to Myrtilus
and then to Daphne.
He had found his friend sleeping, and though every fibre of his being
urged him to speak to him, he forced himself to leave the sufferer
undisturbed.
Yet so torturing a sense of dissatisfaction with himself, so keen a
resentment against his own adverse destiny had awaked within him, that he
could no longer endure to remain in the presence of his work, with which
he was more and more dissatisfied.
Away from the studio!
There was a gay party on board the galley of his parents' old friends.
Wine should bring him forgetfulness, too, bless him again with the sense
of joyous existence which he knew so well, and which he now seemed on the
point of losing.
When he had once talked and drunk himself into the right mood, life would
wear a less gloomy face.
No! It should once more be a gay and reckless one.
And Althea?
He would meet her, with whom he had once caroused and revelled madly
enough in the intoxication of the last Dionysia, and, instead of allowing
himself to be fooled any longer and continuing to bow respectfully before
her, would assert all the rights she had formerly so liberally granted.
He would enjoy to-day, forget to-morrow, and be gay with the gay.
Eager for new pleasure, he drew a long breath as he went out into the
open air, pressed his hands upon his broad chest, and with his eyes fixed
upon the commandant of Pelusium's galley, bedecked with flags, walked
swiftly toward the landing place.
Suddenly from the deck, shaded by an awning, the loud laugh of a woman's
shrill voice reached his ear, blended with the deeper tones of the
grammateus, whose attacks on the previous night Hermon had not forgotten.
He stopped as if the laugh had pierced him to the heart. Proclus
appeared to be on the most familiar terms with Althea, and to meet him
with the Thracian now seemed impossible. He longed for mirth and
pleasure, but was unwilling to share it with these two. As he dared not
disturb Myrtilus, there was only one place where he could find what he
needed, and this was--he had said so to himself when he turned his back
on his sleeping friend--in Daphne's society.
Only yesterday he would have sought her without a second thought, but
to-day Althea's declaration that he was the only man whom the daughter
of Archias loved stood between him and his friend.
He knew that from childhood she had watched his every step with sisterly
affection. A hundred times she had proved her loyalty; yet, dear as she
was to him, willingly as he would have risked his life to save her from a
danger, it had never entered his mind to give the tie that united them
the name of love.
An older relative of both in Alexandria had once advised him, when he was
complaining of his poverty, to seek her hand, but his pride of manhood
rebelled against having the wealth which fate denied flung into his lap
by a woman. When she looked at him with her honest eyes, he could never
have brought himself to feign anything, least of all a passion of which,
tenderly attached to her though he had been for years, hitherto he had
known nothing.
"Do you love her?" Hermon asked himself as he walked toward Daphne's
tent, and the anticipated "No" had pressed itself upon him far less
quickly than he expected.
One thing was undeniably certain: whoever won her for a wife--even
though she were the poorest of the poor--must be numbered among the most
enviable of men. And should he not recognise in his aversion to every
one of her suitors, and now to the aristocratic young Philotas, a feeling
which resembled jealousy?
No! He did not and would not love Daphne. If she were really his, and
whatever concerned him had become hers, with whom could he have sought
in hours like these soothing, kind, and sensible counsel, comfort that
calmed the heart, and the refreshing dew which his fading courage and
faltering creative power required?
The bare thought of touching clay and wax with his fingers, or taking
hammer, chisel, and file in his hands, was now repulsive; and when, just
outside of the tent, a Biamite woman who was bringing fish to the cook
reminded him of Ledscha, and that he had lost in her the right model for
his Arachne, he scarcely regretted it.
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Secluded monotony of his life as a scar over memory