A PLEASURE TRIP.
The year drew to its close with a period of inaction on both sides. The
Carthaginians, greatly disheartened by the defeat of the native tribes,
made no further attempt to assume the offensive. They still held Fort
Nepheris, the Romans not being able to spare enough men to invest it.
The besiegers, on the other hand, were content to let things alone for
the present. Time was on their side. They added daily to the strength of
their siege-works, and their troops, most of them at their first landing
raw recruits, were now becoming well-seasoned soldiers. A few days
before the end of the year Scipio left for Rome in order to be present
at the elections. Nothing was done during his absence, but it was
understood that on his return active operations would be commenced
without delay.
On the day after the departure of the commander-in-chief, Cleanor
received a visit from his physician. Latterly these visits had been rare
and brief, not going beyond a few questions and a short gossip on the
news of the camp. Now, however, the patient was subjected to a close
examination. When this was completed, the physician shook his head.
"My young friend," he said, "you are not making quite the progress I had
hoped and expected to see. The pulse is weak, I find. You have
headaches, you tell me, now and then, and little appetite. This last is
not a good sign. A young man like you, when he is really getting well,
ought to be as hungry as a wolf. On the whole, I think you would be the
better for a change, and we must consider how it can be managed."
At this point of the conversation Polybius entered the tent. "I am not
satisfied," said the physician, addressing the new-comer. "I don't find
my young patient making as good a recovery as I had hoped, and I have
been suggesting a change. These are excellent quarters, and every care
is taken, I know, of our friend, but a camp is not a good place for a
complete recovery. Somehow the presence of a number of men seems to make
the air somewhat stale."
"I am particularly glad to see you," said Polybius, "for this is exactly
the business about which I have come. Scipio, who thinks of everybody,
and forgets nothing, was talking to me about Cleanor here the day before
yesterday, and the very last thing he said to me yesterday when I bade
him good-bye on board his galley was, 'Don't forget the invalid.' He
left the matter, as a whole, to my discretion, but his idea was a short
trip to Egypt. I was to ask your opinion, and if that was favourable, I
was to arrange the details. Scipio will be away for nearly or quite a
month, for there are many things to settle in Rome, and of course
nothing of importance will be done during his absence. That gives us
plenty of time. What do you say, doctor?"
"Nothing could be better," replied the physician. "We will say a month.
That won't give you much time on shore. But I don't care about that. In
fact it is the sea voyage that I count upon for putting our young friend
right. Still, there is plenty to see in Alexandria, even if you can't
get any further."[46]
"That is exactly what I expected to hear," said Polybius. "In fact, I so
much took it for granted that I have given orders for a galley to be
ready this evening. So if you don't object, Cleanor, we will start at
once. There is a nice westerly breeze blowing, which we ought not to
lose."
Cleanor had no objection to make. He was, on the contrary, much pleased
with the idea. He had certainly been feeling somewhat languid, and the
time was beginning to hang heavy on his hands. Besides, what could be
more delightful than to see Alexandria?
A start accordingly was made at sunset. Everything favoured the
voyagers. The wind never veered from the west, and though towards
evening it commonly lulled, it never ceased; during the day it always
blew briskly, but never was so strong as to cause inconvenience. In
consequence the galley's voyage was almost a record, for she reached the
quay in what was called the Eunostos or Haven of Happy Return in nine
days. The travellers paid the customary visit of thanksgiving for a safe
voyage to the Temple of Poseidon, and dropped a half-stater[47] apiece
into the chest for offerings. This done, they presented a letter of
introduction, with which Scipio had furnished them, to the official who
represented Rome in Alexandria, were received by him with effusion, and
pressed to accept his hospitality, but preferred the independence of
lodgings of their own.
Their first visit was, of course, to the great Library. This had not at
that time reached the enormous proportions which it attained about a
century later, when it received, in addition to its own wealth, the vast
collections of Pergamum,[48] but the volumes on its shelves already
numbered more than a quarter of a million. The two friends could have
spent months, had months been at their disposal, in this wilderness of
learning. It was not only the multitude of its treasures that astonished
them, it was the extraordinary value of many of the particular volumes.
Here the student was permitted to inspect, under due safeguards, of
course, the actual autographs of some of the most famous authors of the
world. One of the Ptolemies, ironically called the Well-doer, had
fraudulently possessed himself of the originals of Æschylus, Sophocles,
and Euripides, presenting the Athenian people which owned them with
copies and a money compensation. His successors had followed the same
unscrupulous policy. Indeed, no valuable manuscript that once found its
way into Alexandria was ever permitted to leave it.
Adjoining the Library was the Museum, with its theatre or great
lecture-hall, its smaller lecture-rooms, its dining-hall, and collegiate
buildings, cloisters, gardens, and park. The two friends wandered from
room to room, where all comers were welcome--the munificent endowments
of learning rendered all fees unnecessary--and listened to discourses on
all the subjects of knowledge under the sun.
There did not happen to be any commanding or famous personality among
the professors of the time, but there was plenty of learning and
abundance of rhetoric if not of eloquence. A successor of Aristarchus
discoursed on the criticism of Homer, denouncing, for such happened to
be the subject of the day, the pernicious heresy of the _Chorizontes_,
the critics who maintained a diverse authorship of the Iliad and the
Odyssey. The chair of Euclid was occupied by a geometrician who had made
some additions to the science of trigonometry. In the lecture-room
devoted to astronomy they had the good fortune to hear a really
distinguished man of science, Hipparchus of Bithynia, who had been
invited by the authorities of the Museum to give a course of lectures.
He had chosen for his subject his own great discovery of the precession
of the equinoxes, made, as he explained, by a comparison of his own
observations with those of earlier astronomers.[49]
As they left the room they were invited by an attendant, who observed
that they were strangers, to read an inscription written in letters of
gold over the principal door. It was the epigram of Apollonius of Rhodes
on the reception of the Hair of Berenice among the Constellations.
Polybius was recognized by one of the professors, who had been glad to
leave the thankless politics of Greece for a quiet competence in this
abode of learning, and was invited by the professor to take dinner in
the great banqueting-hall. Cleanor was, of course, included in the
invitation. The intervening time was spent pleasantly enough in
inspecting the garden, in which the collection of tropical plants,
afterwards so famous, had been already begun, and in examining, what
was then a sight peculiar to Alexandria, a menagerie.
Both Polybius and his friend were inclined to think that all time not
spent in the Library or the lecture-room was more or less wasted. Still,
there were sights which it was impossible for a visitor to Alexandria to
neglect. Such was the mausoleum of the Ptolemies, with the coffin of
gold in which reposed the remains of the great Alexander; the
observatory; the palace of justice; and the market, thronged with the
commerce of the whole of the civilized world. There were hours, too,
when the Library was shut, and these were spent in a way both amusing
and instructive. The two wandered through the different regions of the
great city, the streets inhabited by the Jews, with squalid exteriors,
often concealing palaces fit for kings, and the native quarter, crowded
with figures and faces that might have belonged to long-dead subjects of
the Pharaohs. Not less interesting than the city were the docks and
quays. Egypt was already one of the great granaries of the world.
Loading the wheat ships was an employment that provided thousands of
labourers with sustenance, and at this time, thanks to the war, which
had thrown out of cultivation the fertile territory of Carthage, the
trade was particularly brisk.
Anyhow, the time did not hang heavily on the visitors' hands, and
Cleanor could hardly believe that ten days had passed when Polybius
introduced the subject of departure. There was a certain hesitation in
the old man's manner, and Cleanor, who had all the quick observation and
alert intelligence of his race, did not fail to perceive it.
"This is a delightful place, Cleanor," he said, "and I hope to see it
again. Indeed, there are books in the Library which I must go through
carefully before I give my _magnum opus_ to the world. But that must be
for the future. Now I have no choice but to go. We must not allow less
than twelve days for the return voyage, though, if this wind holds, we
shall not take so long."
"Yes," replied Cleanor, "I am ready to start at any time."
Polybius hesitated a second before he spoke. "Well," he said, "I don't
think that there is any necessity for your coming with me. It is a pity
that you should not see something more of Egypt now you are here. And
then there is the question of health. It would be a thousand pities that
you should have anything like a relapse. As for me, I must go. Next
month, or, at furthest, the month after, is likely to see one of the
greatest events in the history of the West, and it would be folly in me,
who pretend to be an historian, if, having the chance of seeing it with
my own eyes, I should fail to be present."
Cleanor saw in a moment that the whole thing had been planned, and that
his companion was speaking by instruction. But he thought it prudent to
conceal his knowledge.
"Yes," he said, "I understand; but I think that I would sooner go back
with you."
This was put out as a feeler, and it did not fail in its object.
"I think it must be as I said," replied Polybius with some hesitation.
"To tell you the truth, it was Scipio's wish that you should remain
here, and I should not like to go against his wish. The master of
legions," he added with a smile, "must have his own way."
"Exactly so," said the young man, "and I have no wish to oppose him."
"Good!" replied Polybius with evident relief; "I was sure that you would
be reasonable, so sure, in fact, that I have made arrangements for you
to start to-morrow on a journey up the Nile. All expenses have been
paid, and you will have nothing to do but enjoy the most wonderful sight
in the world. There need be no hurry. Take your time and see everything
at your leisure. The chance may never come again. The boat and its crew
have been hired for three months. When you return you shall find, all
being well, a letter with instructions awaiting you here."
"Well," said Cleanor, "I can't help being sorry that you are not coming
with me, but the plan is a most delightful one. You could not have
devised anything better."
The young man's real thoughts were quite of another kind, though he
concealed them with an adroitness which would have done credit to a
veteran diplomatist. The fact was that he had been haunted for some time
past by anxieties with which was mingled a certain feeling of
self-reproach. They had scarcely presented themselves, or had been
readily banished, during the period of his weakness and forced inaction.
But when health was fully restored, and he again felt himself capable of
action, he could no longer ignore them.
What had happened, what was likely to happen, to his foster-mother and
her daughter? To Theoxena he was bound by one of the most natural and
tender of ties. To let her perish, or suffer a fate worse than death,
would be a shameful failure of duty, only less disgraceful than if she
had been his mother indeed. And her daughter--? He had scarcely thought
of the girl at the time, so engrossing had been the anxieties of the
moment. But her image had been impressed deeply on his memory, and even
on his heart. He seemed to see her still, as she told, with all the
simplicity of a child, the pitiful story of her kidnapped brother. The
large pathetic eyes, brimmed with tears, haunted him night and day.
And there came with the thought the memory of another face, his sister
in blood, lost to him for ever. Was Fate about to deal him another blow
even worse than the first? Cleoné was dead. Was the time coming when the
best thing that he could wish for Daphne would be that she should be
dead also? And was he to be sight-seeing on the Nile, curiously
speculating on the history of long-past generations, while this awful
tragedy of the present was working itself out at Carthage? The thought
was maddening. "No!" he said to himself; "I may not be able to do
anything to help, but at least I will not be taking my pleasure while
they are suffering torture or death!"
It was, however, necessary to dissimulate. It was plain that Scipio was
determined to have him out of the way when Carthage fell. Nor could
anything, he acknowledged to himself, be more reasonable or more kind.
Though he could not be supposed to feel any sense of duty to a state
from which he had received such treatment, still he might well wish not
to witness its final catastrophe. Of his private feelings the Roman
general could have no knowledge.
His only course was to appear to acquiesce in the plan. Scipio must
undoubtedly have provided for the contingency of his resistance.
Polybius, he remembered, had introduced the subject with a certain
hesitation, as if an objection was not impossible. He was now, Cleanor
trusted, off his guard. A too prompt consent might have seemed
suspicious. As it was, he reflected with satisfaction, he had shown
exactly the right kind of reluctance. He had expressed regret at
losing his friend's company, without giving a hint of any personal
unwillingness to accept the plan.
That evening Polybius started on his return voyage. Cleanor was with him
to the last moment, talking with an admirably simulated gaiety and
interest of the pleasure which lay before him in exploring the Egypt of
the Pharaohs.
FOOTNOTES:
46: A ship of war, with a first-rate crew of rowers, making a
very long day, say of fifteen hours, could travel 150 miles.
From Carthage to Alexandria, by sea, is about 1100 miles. We
must allow not less than ten days each way.
47: A gold piece equal to twelve shillings.
48: The Attali of Pergamum, and the Ptolemies of Alexandria,
were rivals in amassing literary treasures. The house of the
Attali became extinct in 133 B.C., and soon afterwards their
kingdom became a Roman province. Their library remained at
Pergamum till Antony presented it to Cleopatra. The word
"parchment" (_pergamena_) remains as a reminder of its
existence. Skins, of course, had long been used for writing
purposes, but the manufacture was greatly improved under the
patronage of the kings of Pergamum. The jealousy of the
Ptolemies forbade, it is said, the export of paper (_papyrus_)
from Alexandria, and parchment had to be used as a substitute.
49: The backward movement of the equinoctial points along the
elliptic. A constellation which Hesiod describes as rising sixty
days after the spring equinox, now rises one hundred days after.
The equinox therefore has receded by a space equivalent to forty
days.