A week later Caracalla quitted Alexandria to make war on the Parthians.
What finally drove the unhappy man to hurry from the hated place was the
torturing fear of sharing his lion's fate, and of being sent after the
murdered Tarautas by the friends who had heard his appeal to fate.
Quite mad he was not, for the illusions which haunted him were often
absent for several hours, when he spoke with perfect lucidity, received
reports, and gave orders. It was with peculiar terror that his soul
avoided every recollection of his mother, of Theokritus, and all those
whose opinion he had formerly valued and whose judgment was not
indifferent to him.
In constant terror of the dagger of an avenger--a dread which, with many
other peculiarities, the leech could hardly ascribe to the diseased
phenomena of his mental state--he only showed himself to his soldiers,
and he might often be seen making a meal off a pottage he himself had
cooked to escape the poison which had been fatal to his lion. He was
never for an instant free from the horrible sense of being hated,
shunned, and persecuted by the whole world.
Sometimes he would remember that once a fair girl had prayed for him; but
when he tried to recall her features he could only see the charred arm
with the golden snake held up before him as he had pictured it that night
after the most hideous of his massacres; and every time, at the sight of
it, that word came back to him which still tortured his soul above all
else--"The deed." But his attendants, who heard him repeating it day and
night, never knew what he meant by it.
When Zminis met his end by the wild beasts in the arena, it was before
half-empty seats, though several legions had been ordered into the
amphitheatre to fill them. The larger number of the citizens were slain,
and the remainder were in mourning for relatives more or less near; and
they also kept away from the scene to avoid the hated despot.
Macrinus now governed the empire almost as a sovereign, for Caesar,
formerly a laborious and autocratic ruler, shrank from all business.
Even before they left Alexandria the plebeian prefect could see that
Serapion's prophecy was fulfilling itself. He remained in close intimacy
with the soothsayer; but only once more, and just before Caesar's
departure, could the magian be induced to raise the spirits of the dead,
for his clever accomplice, Castor, had fallen a victim in the massacre
because, prompted by the high price set on Alexander's head, and his own
fierce hatred of the young painter, he would go out to discover where he
and his sister had concealed themselves.
When at last the unhappy monarch quitted Alexandria one rainy morning,
followed by the curses of innumerable mourners--fathers, mothers, widows,
and orphans--as well as of ruined artisans and craftsmen, the ill-used
city, once so proudly gay, felt itself relieved of a crushing nightmare.
This time it was not to Caesar that the cloudy sky promised welfare--his
life was wrapped in gloom--but to the people he had so bitterly hated.
Thousands looked forward hopefully to life once more, in spite of their
mourning robes and widows' veils, and notwithstanding the serious
hindrances which the malice of their "afflicted" sovereign had placed in
the way of the resuscitation of their town, for Caracalla had commanded
that a wall should be built to divide the great merchant city into two
parts.
Nay, he had intended to strike a death-blow even at the learning to which
Alexandria owed a part of her greatness, by decreeing that the Museum and
schools should be removed and the theatres closed.
Maddening alike to heart and brain was the memory that he left behind
him, and the citizens would shake their fists if only his name were
spoken. But their biting tongues had ceased to mock or jest. Most of
the epigramatists were silenced forever, and the nimble wit of the
survivors was quelled for many a month by bitter curses or tears of
sorrow.
But now--it was a fortnight since the dreadful man had left--the shops
and stores, which had been closed against the plunderers, were being
reopened. Life was astir again in the deserted and silent baths and
taverns, for there was no further fear of rapine from insolent soldiers,
or the treacherous ears of spies and delators. Women and girls could
once more venture into the highways, the market was filled with dealers,
and many an one who was conscious of a heedless speech or suspected of
whistling in the circus, or of some other crime, now came out of his
well-watched hiding-place.
Glaukias, the sculptor, among others, reopened his work-rooms in Heron's
garden-plot. In the cellar beneath the floor the gem-cutter had remained
hidden with Polybius and his sister Praxilla, for the easy-going old man
could not be induced to embark in the vessel which Argutis had hired for
them. Sooner would he die than leave Alexandria. He was too much petted
and too infirm to face the discomforts of a sea voyage. And his
obstinacy had served him well, for the ship in which they were to have
sailed, though it got out before the harbor was closed, was overtaken and
brought back by an imperial galley.
Polybius was, however, quite willing to accept Heron's invitation to
share his hiding-place.
Now they could both come out again; but these few weeks had affected them
very differently. The gem-cutter looked like the shadow of himself, and
had lost his upright carriage. He knew, indeed, that Melissa was alive,
and that Alexander, after being wounded, had been carried by Andreas to
the house of Zeno, and was on the way to recovery; but the death of his
favorite son preyed on his mind, and it was a great grievance that his
house should have been wrecked and burned. His hidden gold, which was
safe with him, would have allowed of his building a far finer one in its
stead, but the fact that it should be his fellow-citizens who had
destroyed it was worst of all. It weighed on his spirits, and made him
morose and silent.
Old Dido, who had risked her life more than once, looked at him with
mournful eyes, and besought all the gods she worshiped to restore her
good master's former vigor, that she might once more hear him curse and
storm; for his subdued mood seemed to her unnatural and alarming--a
portent of his approaching end.
Praxilla, too, the comfortable widow, had grown pale and thin, but old
Dido had learned a great deal from her teaching. Polybius only was more
cheerful than ever. He knew that his son and Melissa had escaped the
most imminent dangers. This made him glad; and then his sister had done
wonders that he might not too greatly miss his cook. His meals had
nevertheless been often scanty enough, and this compulsory temperance had
relieved him of his gout and done him so much good that, when Andreas led
him out into daylight once more, the burly old man exclaimed: "I feel as
light as a bird. If I had but wings I could fly across the lake to see
the boy. It is you, my brother, who have helped to make me so much
lighter." He laid his arm on the freedman's shoulder and kissed him on
the cheeks. It was for the first time; and never before had he called
him brother. But that his lips had obeyed the impulse of his heart might
be seen in the tearful glitter of his eyes, which met those of Andreas,
and they, too, were moist.
Polybius knew all that the Christian had done for his son and for
Melissa, for him and his, and his jest in saying that Andreas had helped
to make him lighter referred to his latest achievement. Julianus, the
new governor of the city, who now occupied the residence of the prefect
Titianus, had taken advantage of the oppressed people to extract money,
and Andreas, by the payment of a large sum, had succeeded in persuading
him to sign a document which exonerated Polybius and his son from all
criminality, and protected their person and property against soldiers and
town guards alike. This safe-conduct secured a peaceful future to the
genial old man, and filled the measure of what he owed to the freedman,
even to overflowing. Andreas, on his part, felt that his former owner's
kiss and brotherly greeting had sealed his acceptance as a free man. He
asked no greater reward than this he had just received; and there was
another thing which made his heart leap with gladness. He knew now that
the fullness of time had come in the best sense for the daughter of the
only woman he had ever loved, and that the Good Shepherd had called her
to be one of His flock. He could rejoice over this without a pang, for
he had learned that Diodoros, too, had entered on the path which hitherto
he had pointed out to him in vain.
A calm cheerfulness, which surprised all who knew him, brightened the
grave man; for him the essence of Christian love lay in the Resurrection,
and he saw with astonishment that a wonderful new vitality was rising out
of death. For Alexandria, too, the time was fulfilled. Men and women
crowded to the rite of baptism. Mothers brought their daughters, and
fathers their sons. These days of horror had multiplied the little
Christian congregation to a church of ten thousand members. Caracalla
turned hundreds from heathenism by his bloody sacrifices, his love of
fighting, his passion for revenge, and the blindness which made him cast
away all care for his eternal soul to secure the enjoyment of a brief
existence. That the sword which had slain thousands of their sons should
have been dedicated to Serapis, and accepted by the god, alienated many
of the citizens from the patron divinity of the town. Then the news that
Timotheus the high-priest had abdicated his office soon after Caesar's
departure, and, with his revered wife Euryale, had been baptized by their
friend the learned Clemens, confirmed many in their desire to be admitted
into the Christian community.
After these horrors of bloodshed, these orgies of hatred and vengeance,
every heart longed for love and peace and brotherly communion. Who of
all those that had looked death in the face in these days was not anxious
to know more of the creed which taught that the life beyond the grave was
of greater importance than that on earth?--while those who already held
it went forth to meet, as it were, a bridegroom. They had seen men
trodden down and all their rights trampled on, and now every ear was open
when a doctrine was preached which recognized the supreme value of
humanity, by ascribing, even to the humblest, the dignity of a child of
God. They were accustomed to pray to immortal beings who lived in
privileged supremacy and wild revelry at the golden tables of the
Olympian banquet; and now they were told that the church of the
Christians meant the communion of the faithful with their fatherly God,
and with His Son who had mingled with other mortals in the form of man
and who had done more for them than a brother, inasmuch as He had taken
upon Himself to die on the cross for love of them.
To a highly cultured race like the Alexandrians it had long seemed an
absurdity to try to purchase the favor of the god; by blood-offerings.
Many philosophical sects, and especially the Pythagoreans, had forbidden
such sacrifices, and had enjoined the bringing of offerings not to
purchase good fortune, but only to honor the gods; and now they saw the
Christians not making any offerings at all, but sharing a love-feast.
This, as they declared, was to keep them in remembrance of their
brotherhood and of their crucified Lord, whose blood, once shed, His
heavenly Father had accepted instead of every other sacrifice. The
voluntary and agonizing death of the Redeemer had saved the soul of every
Christian from sin and damnation; and many who in the late scenes of
horror had been inconsolable in anticipation of the grave, felt moved to
share in this divine gift of grace.
Beautiful, wise, and convincing sentences from the Bible went from lip to
lip; and a saying of Clemens, whose immense learning was well known, was
especially effective and popular. He had said that "faith was knowledge
of divine things through revelation, but that learning must give the
proof thereof"; and this speech led many men of high attainments to study
the new doctrines.
The lower classes were no doubt those most strongly attracted, the poor
and the slaves; and with them the sorrowing and oppressed. There were
many of these now in the town; ten thousand had seen those dearest to
them perish, and others, being wounded, had within a few days been ruined
both in health and estate.
As to Melissa in her peril, so to all these the Saviour's call to the
heavy-laden that He would give them rest had come as a promise of new
hope to car and heart. At the sound of these words they saw the buds of
a new spring-time for the soul before their eyes; any one who knew a
Christian improved his intimacy that he might hear more about the tender-
hearted Comforter, the Friend of children, the kind and helpful Patron of
the poor, the sorrowful, and the oppressed.
Assemblies of any kind were prohibited by the new governor; but the law
of Aelius Marcianus allowed gatherings for religious purposes, and the
learned lawyer, Johannes, directed his fellow-Christians to rely on that.
All Alexandria was bidden to these meetings, and the text with which
Andreas opened the first, "Now the fullness of time is come," passed from
mouth to mouth.
Apart from that period which had preceded the birth of Christ, these
words applied to none better than to the days of death and terror which
they had just gone through. Had a plainer boundary-stone ever been
erected between a past and a future time? Out of the old vain and
careless life, which had ended with such fearful horrors, a new life
would now proceed of peace and love and pious cares.
The greater number of the citizens, and at their head the wealthy and
proud, still crowded the heathen temples to serve the old gods and
purchase their favor with offerings; still, the Christian churches were
too small and few to hold the faithful, and these had risen to higher
consideration, for the community no longer consisted exclusively of the
lower rank of people and slaves. No, men and women of the best families
came streaming in, and this creed--as was proclaimed by Demetrius, the
eloquent bishop; by Origen, who in power and learning--was the superior
of any heathen philosopher; by the zealous Andreas, and many another
chosen spirit--this creed was the religion of the future.
The freedman had never yet lived in such a happy and elevated frame of
mind; as he looked back on his past existence he often remembered with
thankful joy the promise that the last should be first, and that the
lowly should be exalted. If the dead had risen from their graves before
his eyes it would scarcely have surprised him, for in these latter days
he had seen wonder follow on wonder. The utmost his soul had so
fervently desired, for which he had prayed and longed, had found
fulfillment in a way which far surpassed his hopes; and through what
blood and fear had the Lord led His own, to let them reach the highest
goal! He knew from the lady Euryale that his desire to win Melissa's
soul to the true faith had been granted, and that she craved to be
baptized. This had not been confirmed by the girl herself, for, attacked
by a violent fever, she had during nine days hovered between life and
death; and since then Andreas had for more than a week been detained in
the town arranging affairs for Polybius.
The task was now ended which he had set himself to carry through. He
could leave the city and see once more the young people he loved. He
parted from Polybius and his sister at the garden gate, and led Heron and
old Dido to a small cottage which his former master had given him to live
in.
The gem-cutter was not to be allowed to see his children till the leech
should give leave, and the unfortunate man could not get over his
surprise and emotion at finding in his new home not only a work-table,
with tools, wax, and stones, but several cages full of birds, and among
these feathered friends a starling. His faithful and now freed slave,
Argutis, had, by Polybius's orders, supplied everything needful; but the
birds were a thought of the Christian girl Agatha. All this was a
consolation in his grief, and when the gem-cutter was alone with old Dido
he burst into sobs. The slave woman followed his example, but he stopped
her with loud, harsh scolding. At first she was frightened; but then she
exclaimed with delight from the very bottom of her faithful heart, "The
gods be praised!" and from the moment when he could storm, she always
declared, Heron's recovery began.
........................
The sun was setting when Andreas made his way to Zeno's house--a long,
white-washed building.
The road led through a palm-grove on the Christian's estate. His anxiety
to see the beloved sufferers urged him forward so quickly that he
presently overtook another man who was walking in the same direction in
the cool of the evening. This was Ptolemaeus, the physician.
He greeted Andreas with cheerful kindness, and the freedman knew what he
meant when, without waiting to be asked, he said:
"We are out of the wood now; the fever has passed away. The delirious
fancies have left her, and since noon she has slept. When I quitted her
an hour ago she was sleeping soundly and quietly. Till now the shaken
soul has been living in a dream; but now that the fever has passed away,
she will soon be herself again. As yet she has recognized no one;
neither Agatha nor the lady Euryale; not even Diodoros, whom I allowed to
look at her yesterday for a moment. We have taken her away from the
large house in the garden, on account of the children, to the little
villa opposite the place of worship. It is quiet there, and the air
blows in on her through the open veranda. The Empress herself could not
wish for a better sick-room. And the care Agatha takes of her! You are
right to hasten. The last glimmer of sunshine is extinct, and divine
service will soon begin. I am satisfied with Diodoros too; youth is a
soil on which the physician reaps easy laurels. What will it not heal
and strengthen! Only when the soul is so deeply shaken, as with Melissa
and her brother, matters go more slowly, even with the young. However,
as I said, we are past the crisis."
"God be praised!" said Andreas. "Such news makes me young again.
I could run like a boy." They now entered the well-kept gardens which
lay behind Zeno's house. Noble clumps of tall old trees rose above the
green grass plots and splendid shrubs. Round a dancing fountain were
carefully kept beds of beautiful flowers. The garden ended at a palm-
grove, which cast its shade on Zeno's little private place of worship
--an open plot inclosed by tamarisk hedges like walls. The little villa
in which Melissa lay was in a bower of verdure, and the veranda with the
wide door through which the bed of the sufferer had been carried in,
stood open in the cool evening to the garden, the palm-grove, and the
place of worship with its garland, as it were, of fragile tamarisk
boughs.
Agatha was keeping watch by Melissa; but as the last of the figures,
great and small, who could be seen moving across the garden, all in the
same direction, disappeared behind the tamarisk screen, the young
Christian looked lovingly down at her friend's pale and all too delicate
face, touched her forehead lightly with her lips, and whispered to the
sleeper, as though she could hear her voice:
"I am only going to pray for you and your brother."
And she went out.
A few moments later the brazen gong was heard--muffled out of regard for
the sick--which announced the hour of prayer to the little congregation.
It had sounded every evening without disturbing the sufferer, but to-
night it roused her from her slumbers.
She looked about her in bewilderment and tried to rise, but she was too
weak to lift herself. Terror, blood, Diodoros wounded, Andreas, the ass
on which she had ridden that night, were the images which first crowded
on her awakening spirit in bewildering confusion. She had heard that
piercing ring of smitten brass in the Serapeum. Was she still there?
Had she only dreamed of that night-ride with her wounded lover? Perhaps
she had lost consciousness in the mystic chambers, and the clang of the
gong had roused her.
And she shuddered. In her terror she dared not open her eyes for
fear of seeing on all hands the hideous images on the walls and ceiling.
Merciful gods! If her flight from the Serapeum and the rescue of
Diodoros by Andreas had really been but a dream, then the door might open
at any moment, and the Egyptian Zminis or his men might come in to drag
her before that dreadful Caesar.
She had half recovered consciousness several times, and as these thoughts
had come over her, her returning lucidity had vanished and a fresh attack
of fever had shaken her. But this time her head seemed clearer; the
cloud and humming had left her which had impeded the use of her ears and
eyes.
Her brain too had recovered its faculties. As soon as she tried to
think, her restored intelligence told her that if she were indeed still
in the Serapeum and the door should open, the lady Euryale might come in
to speak courage to her and take her in her motherly arms, and--And she
suddenly recollected the promise which had come to her from the
Scriptures of the Christians. It stood before her soul in perfect
clearness that she had found a loving comforter in the Saviour; she
remembered how gladly she had declared to the lady Euryale that the
fullness of time had now indeed come to her, and that she had no more
fervent wish than to become a fellow-believer with her kind friend--
a baptized Christian. And all the while she felt as though light were
spreading in her and around her, and the vision she had last seen when
she lost consciousness rose again before her inward eye. Again she saw
the Redeemer as He had stood before her at the end of her ride,
stretching out His arms to her in the darkness, inviting her, who was
weary and heavy laden, to be refreshed by him. A glow of thankfulness
warmed her heart, and she closed her eyes once more.
But she did not sleep; and while she lay fully conscious, with her hands
on her bosom as it rose and fell regularly with her deep breathing,
thinking of the loving Teacher, of the Christians, and of all the
glorious promises she had read in the Sermon on the Mount, and which were
addressed to her too, she could fancy that her head rested on Euryale's
shoulder, while she saw the form of the Saviour robed in light and
beckoning to her.
Her whole frame was wrapped in pleasant languor. Just so had she felt
once before-she remembered it well--and she remembered when it was. She
had felt just as she did now after her lover had for the first time
clasped her to his heart, when, as night came on, she had sat by his side
on the marble bench, while the Christian procession passed. She had
taken the chanting train for the wandering souls of the dead and--how
strange! No--she was not mistaken. She heard at this moment the
selfsame strain which they had then sung so joyfully, in spite of its
solemn mode. She did know when it had begun, but again it filled her
with a bitter-sweet sense of pity. Only it struck deeper now than
before, for she knew now that it applied to all human beings, since they
were all the children of the same kind Father, and her own brethren and
sisters.
But whence did the wonderful music proceed--Was she--and a shock of alarm
thrilled her at the thought--was she numbered with the dead? Had her
heart ceased to beat when the Saviour had taken her in His arms after her
ride through blood and darkness, when all had grown dim to her senses?
Was she now in the abode of the blest?
Andreas had painted it as a glorious place; and yet she shuddered at the
thought. But was not that foolish? If she were really dead, all terror
and pain were at an end. She would see her mother once more; and
whatever might happen to those she loved, she might perhaps be suffered
to linger near them, as she had done on earth, and hope with assurance to
meet them again here, sooner or later.
But no! Her heart was beating still; she could feel how strongly it
throbbed. Then where was she?
There certainly had not been any such coverlet as this on her bed in the
Serapeum, and the room there was much lower. She looked about her and
succeeded in turning on her side toward the evening breeze which blew in
on her, so pure and soft and sweet. She raised her delicate emaciated
hand to her head and found that her thick hair was gone. Then she must
have cut it off to disguise herself.
But where was she? Whither had she fled?
It mattered not. The Serapeum was far away, and she need no longer fear
Zminis and his spies. Now for the first time she raised her eyes
thankfully to Heaven, and next she looked about her; and while she gazed
and let her eyes feed themselves full, a faint cry of delight escaped her
lips. Before her, in the silvery light of the bright disk of the young
moon lay a splendid blooming garden, and over the palms which towered
above all else, in shadowy masses, in the distance the evening star was
rising just in front, the moonlight twinkled and flashed in the rising
and falling drops of the fountain; and as she lay, stirred to the depths
of her soul by this silent splendor, thinking of kindly Selene moving on
her peaceful path above, of Artemis hunting in the moonlight, of the
nymphs of the waters, and the dryads just now perhaps stealing out of the
great trees to dance with sportive fauns, the chant suddenly broke out
again in solemn measure, and she heard, to deep manly voices, the
beginning of the Psalm:
"Give thanks unto the Lord and declare his name; proclaim his wonders
among the nations.
"Sing of him and praise him; tell of all his wonders; glorify his holy
name; their hearts rejoice that seek the Lord."
Here the men ceased and the women began as though to confirm their praise
of the most High, singing the ninetieth Psalm with enthusiastic joy:
"O Lord, thou hast been our dwelling-place in all generations.
"Before the mountains were brought forth, or, ever thou hadst formed the
earth and the world, even from everlasting to everlasting, thou art God.
"For a thousand years in thy sight are but as yesterday when it is
passed, and as a watch in the night."