The great Hippodrome of Alexandria was outside the Canopic gate, on the
northern side of the road leading to Eleusis which to-day was crowded
with passengers, all moving in the same direction. The tumult roused by
the intelligence that Serapis was overthrown made all the more peaceful
and peace-loving of the spectators hurry homewards; and as these, for
the most part, were of the richer classes, who came and went in litters
or chariots, their conveyances left but scanty space on the wide
causeway for foot passengers, still, there they were, in considerable
numbers, all wending their way towards the city, and the heathen who
came rushing towards the Hippodrome behind the first heralds of the
disaster, had great difficulty in making their way against the stream.
Marcus and Dada allowed themselves to be carried onward by the throng
which was tending towards the city-walls and the Canopic gate. Phabis,
Mary’s old steward, whose duty it had been to help his young master to
dress after the races were over, had snatched the agitator’s cap from
the youth’s head and flung a cloak over his shoulders, hastily following
him as he went off with the young girl by his side. The old man quite
understood what was in the wind for he it was who had conducted Dame
Herse to his mistress’ presence. He had thought her a shrewd and
kind-hearted woman, and it now struck him that she must certainly have
been in the right when she accused Marcus of designs on her pretty
niece. At the time he had refused to believe it, for he had never in his
life detected his young master in any underhand or forbidden courses;
but, after all, Marcus was his father’s son, and, in his younger
days, the old man had often and often had to risk his skin in Apelles’
love-intrigues. And now it was the Son’s turn--and if he were to take
his fancy for that pretty chit as seriously as he did most things, if he
got the notion into his head of marrying the little singer--what a storm
there was brewing between him and his mother!
The old man did his best to keep up with Marcus who did not see or heed
him, for his eyes and attention were centered on the fair companion who
was clinging to his arm, while he tried to force a passage through the
mob, towards the gate. Miracle on miracle seemed to him to have been
wrought in his behalf; for Heaven had not only sent him Dada, but she
was wearing blue ribbands; and when he asked her why, she had replied
“For your sake, and because I like your Faith.”
He was tired to death; but as soon as Dada had put her hand through his
arm he lead felt refreshed as if by magic. His swollen and blistered
hands, to be sure, were painful and his shoulders ached and winced from
stiffness; but as she pressed his arm to her side and looked up gladly
in his face--telling him how happy she was while he responded: “And how
I love you!”--he felt himself in Heaven, and pain and discomfort were
forgotten. The crush did not allow them to say more than a few words;
but the things their eyes and lips could smile were sweeter and dearer
than anything they had ever known before.
They had got through the gate and were in the Canopic way when Dada
suddenly perceived that his lips were white, and felt the arm tremble
on which her hand was lying. She asked him what ailed him; he made
no reply, but put his hand to his head, so she led him aside into the
public garden that lay to their right between the little Stadium and the
Maeandrian circus. In this pretty spot, fresh with verdure and spring
flowers, she soon found a bench shaded by a semicircular screen of
dark-tufted tamarisk, and there she made him lie down. He yielded at
once, and his pale face and fixed gaze showed her that he was in a
fainting state. Indeed, he must be quite worn out by the terrible
struggle of the race, and after it was over he had not given himself
time to take a cup of drink or a scrap of food for refreshment. It was
only too natural that his strength should fail him, so, without feeling
at all alarmed but only very pitiful and anxious to help, she ran back
to a fruit-stall which they had passed at the entrance to the garden
from the street.
How glad she was that she still had the four drachmae which she had
coaxed out of Karnis in the Xenodochium that evening; she could buy
whatever she liked for her lover. When she went back-loaded with
oranges, apples, hard-boiled eggs, bread and salt, in the skirt of her
dress that she gathered up with one hand, and with a flask of wine
and water, and a gourdbowl in the other-she found him still lying
unconscious. However, when she had moistened his forehead and lips he
opened his eyes, and then she peeled him an orange as daintily as she
could and begged him to try it, and as she was herself very hungry she
took a hearty share. She was enchanted at making him her guest, and at
finding that he enjoyed the simple meal and soon was quite revived.
In fact, in a few minutes he had altogether recovered his strength and
consciousness of satisfaction; and as he lay back with Dada’s hand
in his, gazing happily and thankfully into her sweet eyes, a sense of
peace, rest and bliss came over him such as he had never before known.
He thought he had never tasted such delicious food, or such exquisite
wine as the wretched Mareotic from the fruitstall. He took the apple she
had begun eating out of her hand and bit it where her white teeth had
been; he made her drink first out of the gourd-cup, and, as one of the
three eggs she had brought with her was bad, they had quite a little
battle for the last, till he finally gave way and eat it.
When they had finished Dada’s purchases to the last mouthful she asked
him, for the first time, where he meant to take her, and he said he
intended placing her in the house of his former tutor, Eusebius, the
deacon, where she would be a welcome guest and find her old companion
Agne. Of this she was sincerely glad; and when, on hearing the title of
Deacon, she questioned Marcus further, and identified Eusebius as the
worthy old man whose discourse in the basilica had so deeply impressed
her, she told Marcus how she had gone into the church, and how, from
that hour, she had felt at peace. A quite new feeling had sprung up in
her soul, and since then she had constantly longed to see him again
and talk it all over with him:--The little she had learnt of Christian
doctrine did her heart good and had given her comfort and courage. The
world was so beautiful, and there were many more good men than bad.
It was a pleasure to love one’s neighbor, and as for forgiving a
wrong--that she had never found difficult. It must be good to live on
earth if everyone loved his neighbor as she loved him and he loved her;
and life could not be a great hardship if in every trouble there was
some one who was always ready to hear our cry and help us, out of pure
beneficence.
Her innocent talk was to Marcus the greatest marvel of this day of
miracles. The soul which he had dreamed that he was called to save had,
of its own accord, turned to walk in the path of salvation; he went on
to tell her of the things which he felt to be most sublime and glorious
in his creed, and at length he confessed that, though he had always
loved his neighbor for Christ’s sake, never till now had true and
perfect love been revealed to him. No power on earth could now part
him from her, and when she should have been baptized there would be
no further difficulty; their love might last till, and beyond, death,
through all the ages of eternity. And she listened to him, perfectly
content; and said that she was his, wholly his, now, and for ever and
ever.
There were to-day but few people in the garden which was usually full
in the afternoon, of idlers, and of children with their nurses; but the
disturbance in the streets had kept these at home, and the idlers had
found more to attract them at the Hippodrome and in the crowded roads.
This favored the lovers, who could sit hand in hand, looking into each
other’s eyes; and when old Phabis, who had lost sight of them long
since, at length discovered them in the park, he could see from his
lurking-place as he crept closer, that his young master, after glancing
cautiously round, pressed a kiss on the little singer’s hair, and then
on her eyes and at last on her lips.
The hours flew fast between serious talk and delightful dalliance, and
when they tore themselves away from their quiet retreat it was already
dusk. They soon found themselves in the Canopic way, in the thick of the
crowd which they were now occasionally obliged to meet, for those who
were making homewards had long since dispersed, and thousands were still
crowding to the Hippodrome where a brisk fight was still going on. As
they passed his mother’s house Marcus paused and, pointing it out to
Dada, told her that the day was not far distant when he should bring her
home hither. But the girl’s face fell.
“Oh no!” she exclaimed, in a low voice. “Not here-not to this great
palace in a street. Let us live in a little house, quite quietly, by
ourselves. A house with a garden, and a seat in the shade. Your mother
lives here!”
And then she blushed scarlet and looked down. He guessed, however, what
was passing in her mind, and bid her only to have patience, for as soon
as she was a baptized Christian Eusebius would intercede for her. And
he spoke warmly of his mother’s piety and virtues, and asked Dada if she
had seen her at the races.
“Yes,” she replied timidly; and when he went on to ask her if she had
not thought Mary very handsome and dignified, she answered frankly:
“Yes--very; but then she is so tall and grand-looking-she must wish for
a daughter-in-law very different from a poor, forsaken orphan like me--a
mere singer, looked down upon by every one! It is different with you;
you are satisfied with me as I am, and you know that I love you. If I
never find my uncle again I have no one on earth to care for me but you;
but I want no other, for you are my one and only hope, and to live for
you and with you is enough. Only you must never leave me or I shall die!
But you never can, for you told me that my soul was dearer to you than
your own life; and so long as I have you and your love I shall grow
better and better every day; but if you ever let me be parted from you
I shall be utterly lost. Yes, understand that once for all--ruined and
lost, body and soul!--I do not know what it is that terrifies me, but do
let us go on, away from this house. Suppose your mother were to see us!”
He did as she wished and tried to soothe her, praising his mother’s
virtues with the affectionate blindness of a son; but she only half
listened to his eulogy, for, as they approached Rhacotis the throng grew
denser, they had no opportunities for conversation, they could think
of nothing but battling their way through the crowd; still, they were
happy.
[The quarter of the city inhabited by the Egyptians. It was the old
town close to which Alexander the Great built his splendid new
city.]
They thus got to the street of the Sun--one of the main arteries of
the city cutting the Canopic way at right angles--and they went down it
towards the Gate of Helios in the south wall. The Serapeum lay to their
right, several streets leading to it from the street of the Sun. To
reach the house where Eusebius lived they ought to have turned down the
street of the Acropolis, but a compact mass of frenzied creatures came
storming down it from the Serapeum, and towards them. The sun was now
fast setting over the City of the Dead on the western horizon. Marcus
tried to get out of the middle of the road and place Dada in safety by
the house at the corner, but in vain; the rabble that came crowding out
of the side street was mad with excitement, and could think of nothing
but the trophies it had snatched from the temple. Several dozen men,
black and white alike--and among them some monks and even women,
had harnessed themselves to an enormous truck, commonly used for the
carriage of beams, columns, and heavy blocks of stone, on which they
had erected a huge but shapeless mass of wood, the core, and all that
remained, of the image of Serapis; this they were dragging through the
streets.
“To the Hippodrome! Burn it! Down with the idols! Look at the divine
form of Serapis! Behold the god!”
These were the cries that rent the air from a thousand throats, an
ear-splitting accompaniment to the surging storm of humanity.
The monks had torn the desecrated block from the niche in the Serapeum,
hauled it through the courts on to the steps, and were now taking it to
the arena where it was to be burnt. Others of their kidney, and some of
the Christian citizens who had caught the destructive mania, had forced
their way into the temple of Anubis, hard by the Serapeumn, where they
had overthrown and wrecked the jackal-headed idols and the Canopic
gods--four huge jars with lids representing respectively a man’s head,
an ape’s, a hawk’s and a jackal’s. They were now bearing these heads in
triumph, while others were shouldering the limbs of broken statues of
Apollo, of Athene, or of Aphrodite, or carrying the fragments in baskets
to cast them into the flames in the Hippodrome after the wooden stock
of the great Serapis. The mob had broken off the noses of all the heads,
had smeared the marble with pitch, or painted it grossly with the red
paint they had found in the writing-rooms of the Sera peum. Every one
who could get near enough to the remains of the statue, or to a fragment
of a ruined idol, spit upon it, struck it or thrust at it; and not a
heathen had, as yet, dared to interfere.
Behind the oak block of the image of Serapis and the other trophies
of victory, came an endless stream of men of all ages, of monks and of
women, compelling a large carruca--[A four-wheeled chariot used in the
city and for travelling.]--that had fallen into their hands, and which
they had completely surrounded, to keep pace with them. The two fine
horses that drew it had to be led by the bridle; they were trembling
with terror and excitement and made repeated attempts to kick over the
pole or to rear.
In this vehicle was Porphyrius, who had fully recovered consciousness,
and by his side sat Gorgo. Constantine had not stirred from the side of
the convalescent till Apuleius had pronounced him out of all danger;
but then the young officer’s duty had called him away. The merchant
had hailed the news of his daughter’s, union with the companion of her
childhood as a most satisfactory and long-expected event.
A party of the Prefect’s guards had been charged to bring the carriage
for Porphyrius to the door of the temple, and the abbot of a monastery
at Arsinoe, who was well known to the Prefect, undertook to escort them
on their road home and protect them from the attacks of the raving mob.
At the spot where the side street intersected the street of the Sun, and
where Marcus and Dada had been forced to stop, unable either to proceed
or to return, a troop of armed heathen had given the Christian rabble
a check at the very moment when the carruca came up, and falling on
the foe who had mocked and insulted their most sacred treasure, began
a furious fray. Quite close to the young lovers a heathen cut down a
Christian who was carrying the besmirched head of a Muse. Dada clung
in terror to Marcus, who was beginning to be seriously alarmed for her
when, looking round for aid or refuge, he caught sight of his brother
forcing his way through the throng, and gesticulating vehemently. The
farmer was telegraphing to the occupants of the carruca as well, and
when he at last reached Marcus he briefly explained to him that the
first thing to be done was to place Dada in safety.
Only too glad to be out of the crush and danger, the girl nimbly climbed
into the chariot, and, after hastily greeting the father and daughter,
signed to Marcus to follow her; but Demetrius held his brother back, and
it was hurriedly agreed that Dada should be sent for that evening to
the house of Porphyrius. Demetrius whispered a few words of enthusiastic
praise of the little singer into Gorgo’s ear; then the carriage moved
on again. Many of the heathen who had collected round it recognized
Porphyrius, the noble friend of the great Olympius, and cleared a
passage for him, so that at last he got out of the gate uninjured, and
turned into the quieter street of Euergetes which led to the temple of
Isis, the ship-yard and the merchant’s residence.
But few words were exchanged in the chariot, for it was only step by
step and with considerable difficulty that the horses could get along.
It was now quite dark and the mob had spread even into this usually
deserted quarter.
A flaring glow that tinged the temple, the wharf and the deep sky itself
with a gorgeous crimson glare, showed very plainly what the populace
were employed in doing. The monks had set fire to the temple of Isis
and the flames had been driven by the northwest wind down into the
ship-yard, where they had found ample food in the enormous timber stacks
and the skeletons of ships. Tall jets of rushing and crackling sparks
were thrown skywards to mingle with the paler stars. Porphyrius could
see what danger his house was in; but thanks to the old steward’s
foresight and the indefatigable diligence of the slaves, it escaped the
conflagration.
The two brothers, meanwhile, had left the mob far behind them. Demetrius
was not alone, and as soon as he had introduced Marcus to his companion,
an abbot of friendly mien, the monk warmly expressed his pleasure at
meeting another son of Apelles, to whom he had once owed his life.
Demetrius then told his brother what his adventures had been during the
last few hours, and where he had met this worthy Father.
While taking Dada down into the arena to join Marcus, he had caught
sight of Anubis, the Egyptian slave who had been his father’s companion
in his last memorable journey to Syria, and who, since the death of
Apelles, had totally disappeared, the countryman had instantly followed
him, seized him--not without a struggle and some little danger--and then
had him led off by the city-guard to the prison by the Prefect’s house.
Once secured he had been induced to speak, and his narrative proved
beyond a doubt that Apelles had perished in a skirmish with the
Saracens; the Egyptian slave had only taken advantage of his master’s
death to make off with the money he had with him. He had found his way
to Crete, where he had purchased a plot of ground with his plunder; but
then, craving to see his wife and children once more, he had come back
to fetch them away to his new home. Finally, to confirm the truth of his
story, which--clearing him apparently of the murder of his master--did
not invite implicit belief, he told Demetrius that he had seen in
Alexandria, only the day before, a recluse who had been present when
Apelles fell, and Demetrius had at once set out to find this monk,
enquiring among those who had swarmed into the city. He had very soon
been successful; Kosnias, who since then had been elected abbot of the
monastery to which he belonged, now again told Marcus the story of his
father’s heroic courage in the struggle with the freebooters who had
attacked his caravan. Apelles, he said, had saved his life and that of
two other anchorites, one of whom was in Alexandria at this very time.
They were travelling from Hebron to Aila, a party of seven, and had
placed themselves under the protection of the Alexandrian merchant’s
escort; everything had gone well till the infidel Saracens had fallen
upon them in the high land south of Petra. Four of the monks had been
butchered out of hand; but Apelles, with a few of the more resolute
spirits in the company, had fought the heathen with the valor of a lion.
He, Kosmas, and his two surviving comrades had effected their escape,
while Apelles engaged the foe; but from a rocky height which they
climbed in their flight they saw him fall, and from that hour they
had always mentioned him in their prayers. It would be an unspeakable
satisfaction to him to do his utmost to procure for such a man as
Apelles the rank he deserved in the list of martyrs for the Faith.
Marcus, only too happy, wanted to hurry away at once to his mother and
tell her what he had heard, but Demetrius detained him. The
Bishop-he told his brother--had desired his immediate presence, to be
congratulated on his victory; his first duty was to obey that mandate,
and he should at once avail himself of its favorable opportunity to
obtain for his deceased parent the honor he had earned.
It rather startled Marcus to find his brother taking its interest in
a matter which, so lately, he had vehemently opposed; however, he
proceeded at once to the episcopal palace, accompanied by the abbot, and
half an hour later Demetrius, who had awaited his return, met him coming
out with sparkling eyes. The Prelate, he said, had received him very
graciously, had thanked him for his prowess and had bid him crave a
reward. He at once had spoken of his father, and called the recluse to
witness to the facts. The Bishop had listened his story, and had ended
by declaring himself quite willing to put the name of Apelles on the
list of the Syrian martyrs. Theophilus had been most unwilling hitherto
to reject the petitions of so good and illustrious Christian as Mary;
and now, after such ample testimony as to the manner of her husband’s
death, it was with sincere satisfaction that he bestowed this high mark
of honor on the Christian victor and his admirable mother. “So now,”
added the young man, “I shall fly home, and how happy my mother will
be....”
But Demetrius would not allow him to finish his sentence. He laid his
hand on the young man’s shoulder saying: “Patience, my dear fellow,
patience! You must stay with me for the present, and not go to your
mother till I have settled everything that is necessary. Do not
contradict me I entreat you, unless you want to deprive me of the
happiness of remedying an injustice to your pretty Dada. What you most
desire for yourself and her is your mother’s blessing--and do you think
that will be easy to obtain? Far from it, lad! But I can manage it for
you; and I will, too, if only you will do as I bid you, and if the old
Heathen’s niece can be induced to be baptized....”
“She is a Christian already!” exclaimed Marcus eagerly.
“Well then, she can be yours to-morrow,” Demetrius went on calmly, “if
you listen to the advice of your older and wiser brother. It cannot be
very hard upon you, for you must own that if I had not fought it out
with Anubis--and the rascal bit all he could reach like a trapped
fox--if I had not got him locked up and almost run my legs off in
hunting down the worthy abbot, our father would never have enjoyed the
promotion which he is at last to obtain. Who would ever have believed
that I should get any satisfaction out of this ‘Crown of Martyrdom’?
By the gods! It is by no means impossible, and I hope the manes of the
deceased will forgive me for your sake. But it is getting late, so only
one thing more: for my own share of the business all I claim is my right
to tell your mother myself of all that has occurred; you, on your part,
must go at once to Eusebius and beg him to receive Dada in his house.
If he consents--and he certainly will--take him with you to our uncle
Porphyrius and wait there till I come; then, if all goes well, I will
take you and Dada to your mother--or, if not, we will go with Eusebius.”
“Dada to my mother!” cried Marcus. “But what will she....”
“She will receive her as a daughter,” interrupted his brother, “if
you hold your tongue about the whole business till I give you leave to
speak.--There, the tall gate-keeper is closing the episcopal palace,
so nothing more can come out of there to-night. You are a lucky
fellow--well good-bye till we meet again; I am in a hurry.”
The farmer went off, leaving Marcus with a thousand questions still
unasked. However, the young man did his bidding and went, hopeful though
not altogether free from doubts, to find his old tutor and friend.