In the peristyle of a small house not far from the Porta Capena, a
little woman sings a happy song as she tends and gathers her flowers.
A fountain adds its liquid sound to her pleasing melody. It is near
sundown, and the peristyle is bathed in soft light reflected from
a clear blue sky. In a corner of the corridor that surrounds the
peristyle, a bright-faced lad lies upon a couch. A hunchbacked girl
with long arms and slanting but kind face hands him a cup of water and
moves silently away. The little woman takes a tuft of mignonette and
gives it to the happy-faced lad, saying, “That will refresh thee after
thy tired and anxious day.”
“Thou art too kind, my lady.”
“Do thy limbs pain thee less, Aldo?”
“Ay, my lady,” replies the lad, anxious to appear better and stronger
than he really is.
“Cruelly did they torture thee, my Aldo.”
“Ay; they were brutal. But they learned not from me my master’s
hiding-place.”
“Brave and heroic lad, thy silence saved us all.”
“How I long for the stables at the Circus!” cries Aldo. “The horses my
master trained at Casinum are the finest beasts that ever appeared at
Rome. He will win the race this day!”
“Thinkest thou so? ’Tis the first race he has run since he fled from
the city with thee.”
“Ah, my lady, he was not idle at Casinum. No one can equal my master.
The horses may become frightened, but he will be able to hold them.”
“Would that I were less nervous! I cannot look at the Circus without
becoming faint. The race must soon be over.”
“Nay, my lady; we have not heard the sound of victory.”
“Ah, Aldo, I fear thy master has lost.”
“Have no fear, my lady; the cheers will come.”
The little woman begins to walk nervously around the corridor. Will he
win? Will he lose? These are the questions that torment her mind. He
had left her at noonday, filled with cheering hopes. He had kissed her
and had said: “Ah, little heart, this night we ought to be far richer.
I have the winning horses, and everything is propitious. A fair portion
of the prize I will bestow upon Hermes if he but guides mine arms!” As
the moments pass by, the little woman tears a flower which she holds in
her hand. She stops again by Aldo and says, “He has lost!” Suddenly a
faint sound is heard, gradually increasing, until a violent cheer rends
the air. “He has won! he has won!” screams the little woman. “Nana! he
has won!”
The good, faithful old Nana comes into the corridor and adds her
enthusiasm to that of her mistress.
“By Hermes! said I not so, my lady?” cries Aldo, with tears of joy
running down his cheeks.
“Ay, ay, my boy!” replies the little woman, hysterically.
“Never do the other factions make such a noise when they win. ’Tis the
Green! Oh that I could have helped my master to harness the horses!”
“The days have been happy since thou didst enter the house, my
mistress,” exclaims Nana, appearing in the corridor. “Each day brings
added joy.”
The little humpback shyly looks from the door of the kitchen.
“Come, Lupa! Share our happiness. Thy master is again the hero of the
Green faction.”
Some time after, a second cheering is heard. This time it appears
nearer. The little woman hastens to the door and looks towards the Via
Appia. She sees the victor, crowned with olive and with a palm branch
in his hand, coming towards her, escorted by an admiring throng. So
filled is she with an indescribable feeling of joy that she rushes
towards him, crying, “Gyges, O my Gyges!”
The charioteer, not less excited than the little woman, hastens his
steps, and seizing her in his arms and kissing her, exclaims: “O
Psyche, my little wife, what intense happiness is ours!”
A new cry of enthusiasm rises from the crowd. At the door of his home
Gyges turns to them and says: “Friends, ye are no happier than I am!
’Twas a hard-earned victory. May the Greens always trust me! These
muscles are always at their service! At the inn of Furnius I have
ordered four thousand cups of wine to be given away. Fare ye well! May
Hermes always be gracious towards us, as he has been this day!”
After another prolonged cheer the crowd departs.
In the peristyle, with his arms extended as far as he is able towards
his master, Aldo leans from his couch. Gyges takes the extended hands
in his. The lad covers those of his master with kisses. “I am so happy!
so happy! so happy, my master!” he cries, with large tears gushing from
his eyes.
“Ay, my little hero, the horses we trained at Casinum carried me to
victory. ’Twas in this manner, O wife.--Ah, Nana, thine eyes are
bright and the poor Lupa is also happy!--My horses were fresh but
restless. Finally the signal was given, the doors of the _carceres_
were thrown open, and the race began. The pace was unusually fast, but
at the fourth turn my horses were nearly as fresh as when they started.
The smallest one of the four could not run in the same rhythm with the
others.”
“The same old fault, my master,” said Aldo, with his eyes opened wide
with excitement.
“Ay, so busy was I trying to get him under control that at the fifth
turn the Red and the White succeeded in pocketing me. Instantly I saw
my danger, and quickly reining the horses, who were now moving as one,
I made a sudden turn to the right. Nothing, my Psyche, nothing, my
Aldo, would have won the race for me if there had been the least fault
in that quick turn.”
“Ay, ay, my master,” said Aldo, nervously patting the cover of his
couch.
“But the very thing we trained them for at Casinum, O Aldo, was
the trick that saved the day. Never before have I seen horses turn
so quickly. In all my experience never have I seen such beautiful
movement. The White was taken back with surprise. He tried to cut me
out; but one word, one toss of the reins, one long cheer to the horses
that know my every whisper, succeeded in bringing me clear of the
rest. Oh the speed with which we made the sixth turn! The Red had the
inside track and we were even. With the cracking of the whips, the
hoof-beats of the horses, and the cheering of the sanguine Greens all
ringing in mine ears, I made my supreme effort. I called each horse
by name. I steadied them with the last bit of strength in my body.
As we reached the final stretch, I was slightly in the lead. Oh, the
cries of the people were deafening! Every one of the charioteers was
exerting himself to the utmost. By some invisible power I succeeded
in instilling into my horses my own enthusiasm. O my lad, on, on, on,
we went towards the final goal! The enthusiasm of the vast crowd now
passed all bounds, my Psyche. ‘He has it! he has it!’ were the words
that rent the air when, a full chariot’s length ahead of them all, I
passed the stand of the judges!”
“Said I not my master would win, my lady?” asks Aldo, trembling with
excitement.
“Ay, my lad,” replies Psyche.
“How feelest thou?” asks Gyges, turning kindly to Aldo.
“A few days more and I shall be able to help thee, my master.”
“The physician has been here, my husband. He says that Aldo will be
able to walk with crutches two weeks hence. He has so bandaged the
lad’s limbs that the boy can scarcely move.”
“Not two weeks hence, my lady?”
“Ay, Aldo.”
“Spartans must have been thine ancestors, Aldo. Thou wert a true hero
to have kept silence under torture. ’Twas that silence, brave lad, that
gives us our present happiness. I will not only make thee free, but I
share with thee my winnings of this day!”
“Nay, my master; I wish for nothing. I am content if I may live with
thee.”
“Come, dear heart,” says Gyges, taking Psyche’s hand, “let us sit
together in our favorite place in the peristyle and watch the play of
the fountain as the evening dies away.”
Seated on the same stone bench where they passed their happy afternoon
before Psyche’s arrest, the loving couple lose themselves in
meditation. The fountain plays its old joyful air.
“The months we were separated, O sweet wife, were bitter ones; but now
in happy matrimonial bonds we live a new life of peace.”
“True, O Gyges; it seems as if my mind had been meanwhile in dense
obscurity. Often does my memory revert to the sufferer with whom I
passed the last months of my imprisonment.”
“Ay, tyranny did not end with the death of Sejanus,” replies Gyges.
“Ah, she was a living Niobe. Never shall I forget her expression
when I told her that Drusus had been starved to death--O poor, poor
Agrippina!” she exclaims, her eyes filling with tears. “But we are
now happy,” she adds after a pause. “My life in our new home is a
continuous song of joy.”
“Thou art the same happy Psyche.”
“Thou art the same brave Gyges.”
“Braver than my sweet wife, who has struggled so heroically?”
“Without the sustaining hope of thy love, my husband, the dancing-girl
would have succumbed under her afflictions. The golden necklace was a
great solace. Each stone sparkled with recollections of thee, joined
together with golden links of love.”
“Thou, sweet wife, wert all in all to me. At Casinum ’twas Psyche who
ruled my thoughts. ’Twas Psyche whose name was carried on my prayers.
’Twas thy love that sustained me in my hiding-place. This day, while
making the last turn, ’twas the thought of thee that gave me the
necessary stimulation to carry me on to glorious victory. Coming from
the Circus, I felt as one of the victorious youths must have felt when
he left the Olympian Games. The cheers of the people fell upon mine
ears like prophetic songs of future victories. When I saw thee at the
door of our house, my heart throbbed with supreme joy. O my love, we
have reached the summit of our happiness!”
At this point their happy reveries are checked by a knock at the door.
Lupa quickly answers the call. Alcmaeon and Hera enter. At the sound of
her parents’ voices Psyche rushes to meet them.
“We have heard the happy news, O Psyche. Hail to thee, victorious son!”
exclaims Alcmaeon.
“’Twas a glorious day, my father! Come, sit thou in the peristyle! The
evening meal is not yet ready. Thou, O mother, may sit with Psyche. We
can be two lovers and rest at their feet, my father! Come!”
“We are proud of thee, my son!” says Hera. “Again the Greek has
conquered. How is the lad Aldo?”
“Ah, my mother, he frets under the restraint of his bandages.”
“He is sleeping, O Psyche,” whispers Lupa, timidly.
“The prize this day, my father, was a large one,” says Gyges to
Alcmaeon, as they gather around the stone bench in the peristyle. “When
the racing-season is over, we will all go to Corinth.”
“A schoolmaster cannot leave his duties.”
“Ay; Macro will find another position for thee when thou returnest.”
“Ah! shall we all really see the city of our ancestors?” asked
Alcmaeon. “Shall we again see Corinth, the eye of Greece, old, ’tis
true, but still undimmed in lustre? Breathing the divine air from the
sublime heights of Corinth, shall we see the living words of the Iliad?
Shall we see the country that stirred the sainted soul of Homer?”
“I shall be glad to lose the sight of cruel Rome,” says Hera.
“Ah, my wife,” exclaims the happy father, with his old enthusiasm for
his wonderful country, “the Greek has conquered the Roman this day.
The Greek has thrown Sejanus from his lofty seat. Did I not say, my
children, that physical strength is overmatched by intellectual power?
Have we accomplished our ends with blaring trumpets? In the silence
of Aldo there was more power than in all the vaunted greatness of the
infamous Sejanus. If the lad had uttered but a word at that crucial
moment, the history of Rome would have been changed.”
“Thou speakest truly, O father,” says Gyges.
“The Greeks are thought to be weak, O my son, but they were once
the greatest nation that ever lived. Ay, in the shadows of divine
mountains, in the soft light of sacred valleys, has the truth entered
into the souls of our countrymen. While our ancestors were clanging
their swords against the sacred ones suspended over the doors of our
columned temples, in order to make themselves invincible in battle;
while the seeds of our heroes were ripening on Iliadic plains; while
the words of Aeschylus--the heroic Son of a Divinity--were being
sung in white theatres to the Hellenes, frenzied with religious
dithyrambics,--what were the Romans doing? They were worshipping
terra-cotta figures; they were living in huts; they knew neither poetry
nor philosophy.”
“Thou fillest our souls with love for our Fatherland, O my sire,”
exclaims Psyche, moved by the words of Alcmaeon.
“Fatherland!” continues Alcmaeon. “Ay, in the minds of the Greeks have
originated the truths of the world. The divine spirit of our Fatherland
shone in a glorious, effulgent day. Having long warmed the world with
celestial rays, the spirit now sleeps. There will be a morrow, my loved
ones, when the harvest grown under that heat will be garnered. Ah,
shall we ever see the day when triumphant Athene shall take the spear
and shield from restless and impetuous Ares and crown his head with the
olive-wreath of peace?”
Alcmaeon pauses. His voice is trembling. He seems to be gathering fresh
thoughts from the profoundest depths of his mind. The evening has now
fallen, and the peristyle is shrouded in darkness. So impressive is
the effect of Alcmaeon’s words that his pensive hearers are stirred to
the very radicles of their souls.
“Fatherland! Fatherland!” he continues, “we shall see the quiet
fields of Greece in the pacific radiance of her glorious religion.
We shall see our noble temples. We shall encircle with our arms the
pure columns,--beautiful sisters of holy hymns. We shall feel in
our veins the pulsations of that inspiration which moved the God of
Poetry to sing the immortal Iliad. In our Fatherland, where tremble
every mountain, every river, every fountain, every grove, every laurel
and myrtle, all trembling like a single leaf, all twinkling like a
single star, with the fervor of infinite Goodness, infinite Beauty,
and infinite Truth,--there, my beloved ones, we shall breathe in the
aroma of future incense! We shall feel the Titanic throb of our past
greatness! We shall see with prophetic eyes the final triumph of Greek
thought over the world!”
From out the darkness, while Alcmaeon spoke these last words, the
enraptured listeners hear a clear soprano voice singing a cradle-song.
It seems like a voice from another world. It is Aldo, who, moved by
his happy dreams, half awake, sings the song that is dearest to him.
Alcmaeon starts, and when the song dies away, he asks Gyges, “Where did
Aldo learn that song?”
“I know not, O father.”
“’Tis a song that is sung only by those who come from Corinth.”
Alcmaeon rises and goes towards Aldo’s couch. He gently touches him and
asks, “Where didst thou learn that song?”
The lad awakes and drowsily asks, “What--what song?”
“Wert thou asleep?”
“Ay. Did I sing in my sleep?”
“Ay, thou didst,” replies Alcmaeon; “and ’twas a song that only we who
come from Corinth sing.”
“I know only one song,” says Aldo, “and if I sang, ’twas the one my
parents taught me.”
“Who were thy parents, my lad?”
“They were Greeks, slaves.”
“What was thy father’s name, Aldo?”
“Gannon.”
“Of a truth?” exclaims Alcmaeon, greatly surprised.
“Ay; my name was Alcmaeon, but my Roman master called me Aldo.”
“Verily do I believe that thou art one of the family of Alcmaeons.
Where is thy bulla?”
Nana interrupts the conversation with the announcement that the evening
meal is served.
“Bring me a light, my Nana. Come hither, all!” commands Alcmaeon.
When a light is handed him, he reads on the little copper bulla that
hangs on a string around Aldo’s neck the words, in Greek, “a child of
the Alcmaeons.”
“Ah, my lad, thou art a true descendant of the Alcmaeons!” cries the
happy schoolmaster. “Here, here is the kiss of relationship. Behold,
Hera, Psyche, and Gyges, we have found a hero in our family.”
“Am I truly thy kinsman?” asks the wondering lad.
“Ah, Aldo, thou art no longer a slave,” cries Gyges. “Thou art free!”
“And I will adopt thee as my son,” exclaims Alcmaeon, with tender
emotion.
* * * * *
A year rolls by. Meantime the promised visit to Corinth has been made
and the family have now returned to Rome. In the house of Gyges there
is great excitement. Hera and Psyche are in the cubiculum. Gyges,
accompanied by Psyche’s father and her foster-brother Aldo, called now
Alcmaeon, proudly leaves the house and walks towards the Temple of Juno
on the Aventine Hill. He goes to register the birth of a son.
_A Spell-binding Creation_
Mysterious Mr. Sabin
By E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM
Author of “Anna the Adventuress,” etc.
_Illustrated._ _397 pages._ _12mo._ $1.50
Deals with an intrigue of international moment--the fomenting of a war
between Great Britain and Germany and the restoration of the Bourbon
monarchy in France as a consequence. Intensely readable for the
dramatic force with which the story is told, the absolute originality
of the underlying creative thought, and the strength of all the men and
women who fill the pages.--_Pittsburg Times._
Not for long has so good a story of the kind been published, and the
book is the more commendable because the literary quality of its
construction has not been slighted.--_Chicago Record-Herald._
_By the Author of “The Shadow of the Czar”_
THE WEIRD PICTURE
By JOHN R. CARLING
Author of “The Viking’s Skull,” “The Shadow of the Czar,” etc.
_With Pictures by Cyrus Cuneo._ _12mo._ $1.50
When a man is summoned home to attend the marriage to another man
of the woman he loves, and when the bridegroom is his own brother,
the situation is certainly very striking. The wedding does not take
place, for the bridegroom is murdered. The scene in which the victim
appears to his brother, on the latter’s arrival at Dover, is singularly
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way for a story which becomes more and more intense and interesting as
its remarkable plot is developed.
_A Powerful American Novel_
The Vision of Elijah Berl
By FRANK LEWIS NASON
Author of “The Blue Goose” and “To the End of the Trail”
_12mo._ _Decorated cloth._ $1.50
Mr. Nason’s new novel deals with the beginnings of orange growing in
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formation of a company for the development of the orange industry, the
building of an irrigation dam, and the collapse of a land boom, furnish
the author material for a well-constructed plot.
_A Gallant Romance of Love and Daring_
MY LADY CLANCARTY
By MARY IMLAY TAYLOR
Author of “On the Red Staircase,” etc.
_Illustrated by Alice Barber Stephens._ _12mo._ $1.50
In this gallant romance of love and daring, in which the action
is swift, the characters are individual and interesting, and the
atmosphere and setting are well adapted to the theme. The scene is laid
at Althorpe, the stately home of the Spencers. Lady Elizabeth Spencer,
daughter of Lord Sunderland, and through his sordid and ambitious
motives married at the age of eleven to Lord Clancarty, makes the most
charming of heroines, and her nobility of character and faithful love
are finely and tenderly portrayed.
_A Story of Colorado Life_
Justin Wingate, Ranchman
By JOHN H. WHITSON
Author of “Barbara, a Woman of the West,” “The Rainbow Chasers,” etc.
_Illustrated._ _12mo._ $1.50
Another strong Western story with spirited and graphic picturing of
local conditions, the agricultural development of a Western ranch
section, and the struggle between the ranchmen and the farmers. The
story has three remarkably striking scenes of danger--a high-grass
fire, a stampede of excited cattle, and a terrific storm and
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becomes the storm centre. The attempt of a beautiful, crafty, and
unscrupulous woman, who is a wrecker of hearts and of men, to influence
his vote for United States senator plays an important part.
_A Tale of the Arizona Desert_
CURLY
By ROGER POCOCK
Author of “Following the Frontier,” etc.
_Illustrated by Stanley L. Wood._ _12mo._ $1.50
A remarkable story of cattle ranges of Arizona, the great desert,
and the grand cañon of the Colorado river. The author has written a
romance of adventure, of conflict, and of love,--a story of breathless
interest, remarkable situation, and great humor and pathos. Chalkeye,
the cowboy who tells the story, Captain McCalmont, the robber-chief,
Lord Babshannon, the owner of a Colorado ranch, his son “Jim,” and
“Curly,” who gives the name to the story, are characters of great
strength, finely portrayed and well contrasted.
_By the Author of “The Shadow of the Czar”_
THE WEIRD PICTURE
By JOHN R. CARLING
Author of “The Viking’s Skull,” “The Shadow of the Czar,” etc.
_With Pictures by Cyrus Cuneo._ _12mo._ $1.50
When a man is summoned home to attend the marriage to another man
of the woman he loves, and when the bridegroom is his own brother,
the situation is certainly very striking. The wedding does not take
place, for the bridegroom is murdered. The scene in which the victim
appears to his brother, on the latter’s arrival at Dover, is singularly
impressive. All this is disclosed in the opening chapter, and paves the
way for a story which becomes more and more intense and interesting as
its remarkable plot is developed.
_A Romance of the Reign of Tiberius_
PSYCHE
By WALTER S. CRAMP
_Illustrated._ _12mo._ $1.50
This strong, historical novel deals with the period when Tiberius went
to live in the island of Capri and built his palace, and with the
attempt of Sejanus, Commander of the Prætorian Guards, to make himself
Emperor of Rome. The characters of the corrupt Emperor Tiberius,
Sejanus, his favorite, and Agrippina, the widow of Germanicus, are
portrayed with great power, and the author has described the Rome
of the time with the utmost faithfulness. Psyche, the heroine, is a
beautiful Greek dancer, betrothed to Gyges, a charioteer in the Roman
circus.
LITTLE, BROWN, & CO., _Publishers_
BOSTON, MASS.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] These are still shown to visitors to-day.
[2] Agrippina, grandmother of Emperor Nero.
[3] This house is shown to visitors on the Palatine Hill at the present
time.
[4] Domitius, father of Emperor Nero.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.
New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the
public domain.