"The lad is in an evil plight," said Gorgias, shaking his head
thoughtfully as the equipage rolled over the stone pavement of the
Street of the King.
"And over yonder," added Dion, "the prospect is equally unpleasing.
Philostratus is setting the people crazy. But the hired mischief-maker
will soon wish he had been less ready to seize Iras's gold coins."
"And to think," cried the architect, "that Barine was this scoundrel's
wife! How could it be----"
"She was but a child when they married her," interrupted Dion. "Who
consults a girl of fifteen in the choice of a husband? And
Philostratus--he was my classmate at Rhodus--at that time had the
fairest prospects. His brother Alexas, Antony's favourite, could easily
advance him. Barine's father was dead, her mother was accustomed to
follow Didymus's counsel, and the clever fellow had managed to strew
dust in the old man's eyes. Long and lank as he is, he is not
bad-looking even now. When he appeared as an orator he pleased his
hearers. This turned his head, and a spendthrift's blood runs in his
veins. To bring his fair young bride to a stately mansion, he undertook
the bad cause of the thievish tax-collector Pyrrhus, and cleared him."
"He bought a dozen false witnesses."
"There were sixteen. Afterwards they became as numerous as the open
mouths you see shouting yonder. It is time to silence them. Go to the
old man's house and soothe him--Barine also, if she is there. If you
find messengers from the Regent, raise objections to the unprecedented
decree. You know the portions of the law which can be turned to
Didymus's advantage."
"Since the reign of Euergetes II, registered landed property has been
unassailable, and his was recorded."
"So much the better. Tell the officials also, confidentially, that you
know of objections just discovered which may perhaps change the Regent's
views."
"And, above all, I shall insist upon my right to choose the place for
the twin statues. The Queen herself directed the others to heed my
opinion."
"That will cast the heaviest weight into the scale. We shall meet later.
You will prefer to keep away from Barine to-night. If you see her, tell
her that Archibius said he would visit her later--for an object I will
explain afterwards. I shall probably go to Iras to bring her to reason.
It will be better not to mention Cæsarion's wish."
"Certainly--and you will give nothing to yonder brawler."
"On the contrary. I feel very generous. If Peitho will aid me, the
insatiate fellow will get more than may be agreeable to him."
Then grasping the architect's hand, Dion forced his way through the
throng surrounding the high platform on wheels, upon which the closely
covered piece of sculpture had been rolled up. The gate of the scholar's
house stood open, for an officer in the Regent's service had really
entered a short time before, but the Scythian guards sent by the
exegetus Demetrius, one of Barine's friends, were keeping back the
throng of curious spectators.
Their commander knew Gorgias, and he was soon standing in the impluvium
of the scholar's house, an oblong, roofless space, with a fountain in
the centre, whose spray moistened the circular bed of flowers around it.
The old slave had just lighted some three-branched lamps which burned on
tall stands. The officers sent by the Regent to inform Didymus that his
garden would be converted into a public square had just arrived.
When Gorgias entered, these magistrates, their clerks, and the witnesses
accompanying them--a group of twenty men, at whose head was Apollonius,
a distinguished officer of the royal treasury--were in the house. The
slave who admitted the architect informed him of it.
In the atrium a young girl, doubtless a member of the household, stopped
him. He was not mistaken in supposing that she was Helena, Didymus's
younger granddaughter, of whom Barine had spoken. True, she resembled
her sister neither in face nor figure, for while the young matron's hair
was fair and waving, the young girl's thick black tresses were wound
around her head in a smooth braid. Very unlike Barine's voice, too, were
the deep, earnest tones trembling with emotion, in which she confronted
him with the brief question, concealing a faint reproach, "Another
demand?"
After first ascertaining that he was really speaking to Helena, his
friend's sister, he hastily told her his name, adding that, on the
contrary, he had come to protect her grandfather from a serious
misfortune.
When his glance first rested upon her in the dimly lighted room, the
impression she made upon him was by no means favourable. The pure brow,
which seemed to him too high for a woman's face, wore an indignant
frown; and though her mouth was beautiful in form, its outlines were
often marred by a passionate tremor that lent the exquisitely chiselled
features a harsh, nay, bitter expression. But she had scarcely heard the
motive of his presence ere, pressing her hand upon her bosom with a sigh
of relief, she eagerly exclaimed:
"Oh, do what you can to avert this terrible deed! No one knows how the
old man loves this house. And my grandmother! They will die if it is
taken from them."
Her large eyes rested upon him with a warm, imploring light; and the
stern, almost repellent voice thrilled with love for her relatives. He
must lend his aid here, and how gladly he would do so! He assured her of
this; and Helena, who had heard him mentioned as a man of ability, saw
in him a helper in need, and begged him, with touching fervour, to show
her grandfather, when he came before the officers, that all was not
lost.
The astonished architect asked if Didymus did not know what was
impending, and Helena hastily replied:
"He is working in the summer-house by the sea. Apollonius is a
kind-hearted man, and will wait until I have prepared my grandfather. I
must go to him. He has already sent Philotas--his pupil, who finds and
unrolls his books--a dozen times to inquire the cause of the tumult
outside; but I replied that the crowds were flocking to the harbour on
account of the Queen. There is often a mob shouting madly; but nothing
disturbs my grandfather when he is absorbed in his work; and his
pupil--a young student from Amphissa--loves him and does what I bid him.
My grandmother, too, knows nothing yet. She is deaf, and the female
slaves dare not tell her. After her recent attack of giddiness, the
doctor said that any sudden shock might injure her. If only I can find
the right words, that my grandfather may not be too sorely hurt!"
"Shall I accompany you?" asked Gorgias kindly.
"No," she answered hurriedly. "He needs time ere he will trust
strangers. Only, if Apollonius discloses the terrible truth, and his
grief threatens to overpower him, comfort him, and show him that we
still have friends who are ready to protect us from such disaster."
She waved her hand in token of gratitude, and hurried through the little
side gate into the garden.
Gorgias looked after her with sparkling eyes, and drew a long breath.
How good this girl must be, how wisely she cared for her relatives! How
energetically the young creature behaved! He had seen his new
acquaintance only in the dim light, but she must be beautiful. Her eyes,
lips, and hair certainly were. How his heart throbbed as he asked
himself the question whether this young girl, who was endowed with every
gift which constituted the true worth of womanhood, was not preferable
to her more attractive sister Barine!--when the thought darted through
his mind that he had cause to be grateful to the beard which covered his
chin and cheeks, for he felt that he, a sedate, mature man, must have
blushed. And he knew why. Only half an hour before he had felt and
admitted to Dion that he considered Barine the most desirable of women,
and now another's image cast a deep shadow over hers and filled his
heart with new, perhaps stronger emotions.
He had had similar experiences only too often, and his friends, Dion at
their head, had perceived his weakness and spoiled many an hour for him
by their biting jests. The series of tall and short, fair and dark
beauties who had fired his fancy was indeed of considerable length, and
every one on whom he had bestowed his quickly kindled affections had
seemed to him the one woman he must make his own, if he would be a happy
man. But ere he had reached the point of offering his hand, the question
had arisen in his mind whether he might not love another still more
ardently. So he had begun to persuade himself that his heart yearned for
no individual, but the whole sex--at least the portion which was young
and could feel love--and therefore he would scarcely be wise to bind
himself to any one. True, he knew that he was capable of fidelity, for
he clung to his friends with changeless loyalty, and was ready to make
any sacrifice in their behalf. With women, however, he dealt
differently. Was Helena's image, which now floated before him so
bewitchingly, destined to fade as swiftly? The contrary would have been
remarkable. Yet he firmly believed that this time Eros meant honestly by
him. The laughing loves who twined their rose garlands around him and
Helena's predecessors had nothing to do with this grave maiden.
These reflections darted through his brain with the speed of lightning,
and still stirred his heart when he was ushered into the impluvium,
where the magistrates were impatiently awaiting the owner of the house.
With the lucidity peculiar to him, he explained his reasons for hoping
that their errand would be vain, and Apollonius replied that no one
would rejoice more than he himself if the Regent should authorize him,
on the morrow, to countermand his mission. He would gladly wait there
longer to afford the old man's granddaughter an opportunity to soften
the tidings of the impending misfortune.
The kind-hearted man's patience, however, was not tested too long; for
when Helena entered the summer-house Didymus had already been informed
of the disaster which threatened him and his family. The philosopher
Euphranor, an elderly member of the Museum, had reached him through the
garden gate, and, spite of Philotas's warning sign, told him what was
occurring. But Didymus knew the old philosopher, who, a recluse from the
world like himself, was devoting the remainder of his life and strength
to the pursuit of science. So he only shook his head incredulously,
pushed back the thin locks of grey hair which hung down on his cheeks
over the barest part of his skull, and exclaimed reproachfully, though
as if the matter under discussion was of the most trivial importance:
"What have you been hearing? We'll see about it!"
He had risen as he spoke, and too abruptly surprised by the news to
remember the sandals on the mat and the upper robe which lay on a chest
of drawers at the end of the room, he was in the act of quitting it,
when his friend, who had silently watched his movements, stopped him,
and Helena entered.
The grey-haired sage turned to her, and, vexed by his friend's doubts,
begged her to convince her grandfather that even matters which do not
please us may nevertheless be of some importance. She did so as
considerately as possible, thinking meanwhile of the architect and his
hopes.
Didymus, with his eyes bent on the ground, shook his grey head again and
again. Then, suddenly raising it, he rushed to the door, and without
heeding the upper garment which Helena still held in her hand, tore it
open, shouting, "But things must and shall be changed!"
Euphranor and his granddaughter followed. Though his head was bowed, he
crossed the little garden with a swift, firm tread, and, without
noticing the questions and warnings of his companions, walked at once to
the impluvium. The bright light dazzled his weakened eyes, and his habit
of gazing into vacancy or on the ground compelled him to glance from
side to side for some time, ere he could accustom himself to it.
Apollonius approached, greeted him respectfully, and assured him that he
deeply regretted having interrupted him in the work for which the whole
world was waiting, but he had come on important business.
"I know, I know," the old scholar answered with a smile of superiority.
"What is all this ado about?"
As he spoke he looked around the group of spectators, among whom he knew
no one except Apollonius, who had charge of the museum accounts, and the
architect, for whom he had composed the inscription on the Odeum, which
he had recently built. But when his eyes met only unfamiliar faces, the
confidence which hitherto had sustained him began to waver, though still
convinced that a demand such as the philosopher suggested could not
possibly be made upon him, he continued: "It is stated that there is a
plan for turning my garden into a public square. And for what purpose?
To erect a piece of sculpture. But there can be nothing serious in the
rumour, for my property is recorded in the land register, and the
law----"
"Pardon me," Apollonius broke in, "if I interrupt you. We know the
ordinance to which you refer, but this case is an exceptional one. The
Regent desires to take nothing from you. On the contrary, he offers, in
the name of the Queen, any compensation you yourself may fix for the
piece of land which is to be honoured by the statues of the highest
personages in the country--Cleopatra and Antony, hand in hand. The piece
of sculpture has already been brought here. A work by the admirable
artist Lysander, who passed too early to the nether world, certainly
will not disfigure your house. The little summer-house by the sea must
be removed to-morrow, it is true; you know that our gracious Queen may
return any day--victorious if the immortals are just. This piece of
sculpture, which is created in her honour, to afford her pleasure, must
greet her on her arrival, so the Regent send me to-day to communicate
his wish, which, as he represents the Queen----"
"Yet," interrupted the architect, who had again warmly assured the old
man's granddaughter of his aid--"yet your friends will endeavour to
persuade the Regent to find another place for the statues."
"They are at liberty to do so," said the officer. "What will happen
later the future will show. My office merely requires me to induce the
worthy owner of this house and garden to submit to-day to the Queen's
command, which the Regent and my own heart bid me clothe in the form of
a request."
During this conversation the old man had at first listened silently to
the magistrate's words, gazing intently into his face. So it was true.
The demand to yield up his garden, and even the little house, for fifty
years the scene of his study and creative work, for the sake of a
statue, would be made. Since this had become a certainty, he had stood
with his eyes fixed upon the ground. Grief had paralyzed his tongue, and
Helena, who felt this, for the aged head seemed as if it were bending
under a heavy burden, had drawn close to his side.
The shouts and howls of the throng outside echoed through the open roof
of the impluvium, but the old man did not seem to hear them, and did not
even notice his granddaughter. Yet, no sooner did he feel her touch than
he hurriedly shrank away, flung back his drooping head, and gazed around
the circle of intruders.
The dull, questioning eyes of the old commentator and writer of many
books now blazed with the hot fire of youthful passion and, like a
wrestler who seeks the right grip, he measured Apollonius and his
companions with wrathful glances. The fragile recluse seemed transformed
into a warrior ready for battle. His lips and the nostrils of his
delicate nose quivered, and when Apollonius began to say that it would
be wise to remove the contents of the summer-house that day, as it would
be torn down early the next morning, Didymus raised his arms,
exclaiming:
"That will not be done. Not a single roll shall be removed! They will
find me at work as usual early to-morrow morning, and if it is still
your wish to rob me of my property you must use violence to attain your
purpose."
"Calm yourself," replied Apollonius. "Every one beneath the moon must
submit to a higher power; the gods bow to destiny, we mortals to the
sovereign. You are a sage; I, merely mindful of the behests of duty,
administer my office. But I know life, and if I may offer my counsel,
you will accept what cannot be averted, and I will wager ten to one that
you will have the best of it; that the Queen will place in your hands
means----"
"Sufficient to build a palace on the site of the little house of which I
was robbed," Didymus interrupted bitterly. Then rage burst forth afresh
"What do I care for your money? I want my rights, my good, guaranteed
rights. I insist upon them, and whoever assails the ground which my
grandfather and father bequeathed to me----"
He hesitated, for the throng outside had burst into a loud shout of joy;
and when it died away, and the old man began once more defiantly to
claim his rights, he was interrupted by a woman's clear tones,
addressing him with the Greek greeting, "Rejoice!"--a voice so gay and
musical that it seemed to dispel the depression which rested like a grey
fog on the whole company.
While Didymus was listening to the excited populace, and the new-comer
was gazing at the old man whose rigid obstinacy could scarcely be
conquered by kindness, the younger men were looking at the beautiful
woman who joined them. Her haste had flushed her cheeks, and from
beneath the turquoise-blue kerchief that covered her fair locks a
bewitching face smiled at her sister, the architect, and her
grandfather.
Apollonius and many of his companions felt as if happiness in person had
entered this imperilled house, and many an eye brightened when the
infuriated old man exclaimed in an altered tone, "You here, Barine?" and
she, without heeding the presence of the others, kissed his cheek with
tender affection.
Helena, Gorgias, and the old philosopher Euphranor, had approached her,
and when the latter asked with loving reproach, "Why, Barine, how did
you get through the howling mob?" she answered gaily: "That a learned
member of the Museum may receive me with the query whether I am here,
though from childhood a kind or--what do you think, grandfather?--a
malign fate has preserved me from being overlooked, and some one else
reprovingly asks how I passed through the shouting mob, as if it were a
crime to wade into the water to hold out a helping hand to those we love
best when it is up to their chins! But, oh! dear, this howling is too
hideous!"
While speaking, she pressed her little hands on the part of the kerchief
which concealed her ears, and said no more until the noise subsided,
although she declared that she was in a hurry, and had only come to
learn how matters were. Meanwhile it seemed as if she was so full of
quick, pulsing life, that it was impossible to leave even a moment
unused, if it were merely to bestow or answer a friendly glance.
The architect and her sister were obliged to return hurried answers to
hasty questions; and as soon as she ascertained what had brought the
strangers there she thanked Apollonius, and said that old friends would
do their best to spare her grandfather such a sorrow.
In reply to repeated inquiries from the two old men in regard to her
arrival there, she answered: "Nobody will believe it, because in this
hurry I could not keep my mouth shut; but I acted like a mute fish and
reached the water." Then, drawing her grandfather aside, she whispered
to him that, when she left her boat at the harbour, Archibius had seen
her from his carriage, and instantly stopped it to inform her of his
intended visit that evening. He was coming to discuss an important
matter. Therefore she must receive the worthy man, whom she sincerely
liked, so she could not stay. Then turning to the others--still with her
kerchief on her head ready for departure--she asked what the people
meant by their outcries. The architect replied that Philostratus had
endeavoured to make the crowd believe that the only appropriate site for
the statues of which she had heard was her grandfather's garden, and he
thought he knew in whose behalf the fellow was acting.
"Certainly not in the Regent's," said Apollonius, in a tone of sincere
conviction; but Barine, over whose sunny brow a shadow had flitted when
Gorgias uttered the orator's name, assented with a slight bend of the
head, and then whispered hurriedly, yet earnestly, that she would answer
for the old man's allowing himself to be persuaded, if he had only time
to collect his thoughts.
The next morning, when the market was crowded, the officer might
commence his negotiations afresh, if the Regent insisted on his plan.
Meanwhile she would do her best to persuade her grandfather to yield,
though he was not exactly one of the class who are easily guided.
Apollonius might remind the Regent that it would be advisable at this
time to avoid a public scandal, to remember Didymus's age, and the
validity of his claim.
While Apollonius was talking with his companions, Barine beckoned to the
architect, and hastily took leave of the others, protesting that she was
in no danger, since she would slip away again like a fish, only this
time she would use her tongue, and hoped by its means to win to the
support of Didymus's just cause a man who would already have ended all
the trouble had the Queen only been in Alexandria.
Until now the eyes and ears of the whole company had been fixed upon
Barine. No one had desired anything better than to gaze at and listen to
her.
Not until she had quitted the room with Gorgias did the officials
discuss the matter together, and soon after Apollonius went away with
his companions, to hold another conference with the Regent about this
unpleasant business. This time the architect had followed the young
beauty with very mingled feelings. Only an hour before he would have
rejoiced to be permitted to accompany and protect Barine; now he would
have gladly remained with her sister, who had returned his farewell
greeting so gratefully and yet with such maidenly modesty. But even the
most vacillating man cannot change one fancy for another as he would
replace a black piece on the draughtboard with a white one, and he still
found it delightful to be so near Barine. Only the thought that Helena
might believe that he stood on very intimate terms with her sister had
darted with a disquieting influence through his brain when the latter
invited him to accompany her.
In the garden Barine begged him, before they went to the landing-place
where the boat was moored, to help her ascend the narrow flight of steps
leading to the flat roof of the gatekeeper's little house.
Here they could watch unseen the tumult in the square below, for it was
surrounded by dense laurel bushes. Bright flames were blazing in the
pitch-pans before the two temples at the side of the Corner of the
Muses, and their light was increased by the torches held in the hands of
Scythians. Yet no individuals could be distinguished in the throng. The
marble walls of the temples shimmered, the statues at Didymus's gate,
and the hermæ along the street of the King which passed the threatened
house and connected the north of the Corner of the Muses with the
sea-shore, loomed from the darkness in the brilliancy of the reflected
light, but the smoke of the torches darkened the sky and dimmed the
starlight.
The only persons distinctly visible were Dion, who had stationed himself
on the lofty framework of the platform on which the muffled statues had
been drawn hither, and the attorney Philostratus, who stood on the
pedestal of one of the dolphins which surrounded the fountain between
the Temple of Isis and the street. The space, a dozen paces wide, which
divided them, permitted the antagonists to understand each other, and
the attention of the whole throng was fixed upon the wranglers.
These verbal battles were one of the greatest pleasures of the
Alexandrians, and they greeted every clever turn of speech with shouts
of applause, every word which displeased them with groans, hisses, and
cat-calls.
Barine could see and hear what was passing below. She had pushed aside
the foliage of the laurel bushes which concealed her, and, with her hand
raised to her ear, stood listening to the two disputants. When the
scoundrel whom she had called husband, and for whom her contempt had
become too deep for hate, sneeringly assailed her family as having been
fed from generation to generation from the corn-bin of the Museum, she
bit her lips. But they soon curled, as if what she heard aroused her
disgust, for the speaker now turned to Dion and accused him of
preventing the kindly disposed Regent from increasing the renown of the
great Queen and affording her noble heart a pleasure.
"My tongue," he cried, "is the tool which supports me. Why am I using it
here till it is weary and almost paralyzed? In honour of Cleopatra, our
illustrious Queen, and her generous friend, to whom we all owe a debt of
gratitude. Let all who love her and the divine Antony, the new Herakles
and Dionysus--both will soon make their entry among us crowned with the
laurels of victory--join the Regent and every well-disposed person in
seizing yonder bit of land so meanly withheld by base avarice and a
sentiment--a sentiment, do you hear?--which I do not name more plainly,
simply because wickedness is repulsive to me, and I do not stand here as
an accuser. Whoever upholds the word-monger who spouts forth books as
the dolphin at my side does water, may do so. I shall not envy him. But
first look at Didymus's ally and panegyrist. There he stands opposite to
me. It would have been better for him had the dolphin at his feet taught
him silence. Then he might have remained in the obscurity which befits
him. But whether willing or not, I must drag him forth, and I will show
you Dion, fellow-citizens, though I would far rather have you see things
which arouse less ire. The dim light prevents your distinguishing the
colour of his robe, but I know it, for I saw it in the glare of day. It
is hyacinthine purple. You know what that costs. It would support the
wives and children of many among you for ten long years. 'How heavy must
be the purse which can expose such a treasure to sun and rain!' is the
thought of every one who sees him strutting about as proudly as a
peacock. And his purse _is_ loaded with many talents. Only it is a pity
that, day after day, most of you must give your children a little less
bread and deprive yourselves of many a draught of wine to deck him out
so bravely. His father, Eumenes, was a tax-collector, and what the leech
extorted from you and your children, the son now uses to drive, clad in
hyacinthine purple, a four-horse chariot, which splashes the mire from
the street into your faces as it rolls onward. By the dog! the gentleman
does not weigh so very much, yet he needs four horses to drag him. And,
fellow-citizens, do you know why? I'll tell you. He's afraid of sticking
fast everywhere, even in his speech."
Here Philostratus lowered his voice, for the phrase "sticking fast" had
drawn a laugh from some of his hearers; but Dion, whose father had
really amassed, in the high position of a receiver of taxes, the
handsome fortune which his son possessed, did not delay his reply.
"Yes, yes," he retorted scornfully, "yonder Syrian babbler hit the mark
this time. He stands before me, and who does not easily stick fast when
marsh and mire are so near? As for the hyacinthine purple cloak, I wear
it because I like it. His crocus-yellow one is less to my taste, though
he certainly looks fine enough in it in the sunlight. It shines like a
buttercup in the grass. You know the plant. When it fades--and I ask
whether you think Philostratus looks like a bud--when it fades, it
leaves a hollow spiral ball which a child's breath could blow away.
Suppose in future we should call the round buttercup seed-vessels
'Philostratus heads'? You like the suggestion? I am glad,
fellow-citizens, and I thank you. It proves your good taste. Then we
will stick to the comparison. Every head contains a tongue, and
Philostratus says that his is the tool which supports him."
"Hear the money-bag, the despiser of the people!" interrupted
Philostratus furiously. "The honest toil by which a citizen earns a
livelihood is a disgrace in his eyes."
"_Honest_ toil, my good friend," replied Dion, "is scarcely in question
here. I spoke only of _your_ tongue.--You understand me,
fellow-citizens. Or, if any of you are not yet acquainted with this
worthy man, I will show him to you, for I know him well. He is my foe,
yet I can sincerely recommend him to many of you. If any one has a very
bad, shamefully corrupt cause to bring before the courts, I most
earnestly counsel him to apply to the buttercup man perched on yonder
fountain. He will thank me for it. Believe me, Didymus's cause is just,
precisely because this advocate so eagerly assails it. I told you just
now the matter under discussion. Which of you who owns a garden can say
in future, 'It is mine,' if, during the absence of the Queen, it is
allowable to take it away to be used for any other purpose? But this is
what threatens Didymus. If this is to be the custom here, let every one
beware of sowing a radish or planting a bush or a tree, for should the
wife of some great noble desire to dry her linen there, he may be
deprived of it ere the former can ripen or the latter give shade."
Loud applause followed this sentence, but Philostratus shouted in a
voice that echoed far and wide: "Hear me, fellow-citizens; do not allow
your selves to be deceived! No one is to be robbed here. The project is
to purchase, at a high price, the spot which the city needs for her
adornment, and to honour and please the Queen. Are the Regent and the
citizens to lose this opportunity of expressing the gratitude of years,
and the rejoicing over the greatest of victories, of which we shall soon
hear, because an evil-disposed person--the word must be uttered--a foe
to his country, opposes it?"
"Now the mire is coming too near me," Dion angrily responded, "and I
might really stick fast, as I was warned; for I do not envy the ready
presence of mind of any person whose tongue would not falter when the
basest slander scattered its venom over him. You all know,
fellow-citizens, through how many generations the Didymus family has
lived to the honour of this city, doing praiseworthy work in yonder
house. You know that the good old man who dwells there was one of the
teachers of the royal children."
"And yet," cried Philostratus, "only the day before yesterday he walked
arm in arm in the Paneum garden with Arius, the tutor of Octavianus, our
own and our Queen's most hated foe. In my presence, and before I know
not how many others, Didymus distinguished this Arius as his most
beloved pupil."
"To give you that title," retorted Dion, "would certainly fill any
teacher with shame and anger, no matter how far you had surpassed him in
wisdom and knowledge. Nay, had you been committed to the care of the
herring dealers, instead of the rhetoricians, every honest man among
them would disown you, for they sell only good wares for good money,
while you give the poorest in exchange for glittering gold. This time
you trample under foot the fair name of an honourable man. But I will
not suffer it; and you hear, fellow-citizens, I now challenge this
Syrian to prove that Didymus ever betrayed his native land, or I will
brand him in your presence a base slanderer, an infamous, venal
destroyer of character!"
"An insult from such lips is easily borne," replied Philostratus in a
tone of scornful superiority; but there was a pause ere he again turned
to the listening throng, and with all the warmth he could throw into his
voice continued: "What do I desire, then, fellow-citizens? What is the
sole object of my words? I stand here with clean hands, impelled solely
by the impulse of my heart, to plead for the Queen. In order to secure
the only suitable site for the statues to be erected to Cleopatra's
honour and fame, I enter into judgment with her foes, expose myself to
the insult with which boastful insolence is permitted to vent its wrath
upon me. But I am not dismayed, though, in pursuing this course, I am
acting against the law of Nature; for the infamous man against whom I
raise my voice was my teacher, too, and ere he turned from the path of
right and virtue--under influences which I will not mention here--he
numbered me also, in the presence of many witnesses, among his best
pupils. I was certainly one of the most grateful--I chose his
granddaughter--the truth must be spoken--for my wife. The
possession----"
"Possession!" interrupted Dion in a loud, excited tone. "The corpse cast
ashore by the waves might as well boast possession of the sea!"
The dim torchlight was sufficient to reveal Philostratus's pallor to the
bystanders. For a moment the orator seemed to lose his self-control, but
he quickly recovered himself, and shouted: "Fellow-citizens, dear
friends! I was about to make you witnesses of the misery which a woman,
whose wickedness is even greater than her beauty, brought upon an
inexperienced----"
But he went no further; for his hearers--many of whom knew the
brilliant, generous Dion, and Barine, the fair singer at the last Adonis
festival--gave the orator tokens of their indignation, which were all
the more pitiless because of the pleasure they felt in seeing an expert
vanquished by an untrained foe. The wordy war would not have ended so
quickly, however, had not restlessness and alarm taken possession of the
crowd. The shout, "Back! disperse!" ran through the multitude, and
directly after the trampling of hoofs and the commands of the leader of
a troop of Libyan cavalry were heard. The matter at stake was not
sufficiently important to induce the populace to offer an armed force
resistance which might have entailed serious danger. Besides, the
blustering war of tongues had reached a merry close, and loud laughter
blended with the shouts of fear and warning; for the surging throng had
swept with unexpected speed towards the fountain and plunged
Philostratus into the basin. Whether this was due to the wrath of some
enemy, or to mere accident, could not be learned; the vain efforts of
the luckless man to crawl out of the water up the smooth marble were so
comical, and his gestures, after helping hands had dragged him dripping
upon the pavement of the square, were so irresistibly funny, that more
laughing than angry voices were heard, especially when some one cried,
"His hands were soiled by blackening Didymus, so the washing will do him
good." "Some wise physicians flung him into the water," retorted an
other; "he needed the cold application after the blows Dion dealt him."
The Regent, who had sent the troop of horsemen to drive the crowd away
from Didymus's house, might well be pleased that the violent measure
encountered so little resistance.
The throng quickly scattered, and was speedily attracted by something
new at the Theatre of Dionysus--the zither-player Anaxenor had just
announced from its steps that Cleopatra and Antony had won the most
brilliant victory, and had sung to the accompaniment of his lute a hymn
which had deeply stirred all hearts. He had composed it long before, and
seized the first opportunity--the report had reached his ears while
breakfasting in Kanopus--to try its effect.
As soon as the square began to empty, Barine left her post of
observation. It was long since her heart had throbbed so violently. Not
one of the many suitors for her favour had been so dear to her as Dion;
but she now felt that she loved him. What he had just done for her and
her grandfather was worthy of the deepest gratitude; it proved that he
did not come to her house, like most of her guests, merely to while away
the evening hours.
It had been no small matter for the young aristocrat, in the presence of
the whole multitude, to enter into a debate with the infamous
Philostratus, and how well he had succeeded in silencing the dreaded
orator! Besides, Dion had even taken her part against his own powerful
uncle, and perhaps by his deed drawn upon himself the hostility of his
enemy's brother, Alexas, Antony's powerful favourite. Barine might
assure herself that he, who was the peer of any Macedonian noble in the
city, would have done this for no one else.
She felt as if the act had ransomed her.
When, after an unhappy marriage and many desolate days, she had regained
her former bright cheerfulness and saw her house become the centre of
the intellectual life of the city, she had striven until now to extend
the same welcome to all her guests. She had perceived that she ought not
to give any one the power over her which is possessed by the man who
knows that he is beloved, and even to Dion she had granted little more
than to the others. But now she saw plainly that she would resign the
pleasure of being a universally admired woman, whose modest home
attracted the most distinguished men in the city, for the far greater
happiness which would be hers as Dion's beloved wife. With him,
cherished by his love, she believed that she could find far greater joy
in solitude than in the gay course of her present life.
She knew now what she must do if Dion sought her, and the architect, for
the first time, found her a silent companion. He had willingly
accompanied her back to her grandfather's house, where he had again met
her sister Helena, while she had quitted it disappointed, because her
brave defender had not returned there.
After the interruption of the debate Dion had been in a very cheerful
mood. The pleasant sensation of having championed a good cause, and the
delightful consciousness of success were not new to him, but he had
rarely felt so uplifted as now. He most ardently longed for his next
meeting with Barine, and imagined how he would describe what had
happened and claim her gratitude for his friendly service. The scene had
risen clearly before his mind, but scarcely had the radiant vision of
the future faded when the unusually bright expression of his manly face
was clouded by a grave and troubled one.
The darkness of the night, illumined only by the flare of the
pitch-pans, had surrounded him, yet it had seemed as if he were standing
with Barine in the full light of noon in the blossoming garden of his
own palace, and, after asking a reward for his sturdy championship, she
had clung to him with deep emotion, and he had passionately kissed her
tearful face.
The face had quickly vanished, yet it had been as distinct as the most
vivid picture in a dream.
Was Barine more to him than he supposed? Had he not been drawn to her,
during the past few months, by the mere charm of her pliant intellect
and her bright beauty? Had a new, strong passion awakened within him?
Was he in danger of seeing the will which urged him to preserve his
freedom conquered? Had he cause to fear that some day, constrained by a
mysterious, invincible power, in defiance of the opposition of calm
reason, he might perhaps bind himself for life to this Barine, the woman
who had once been the wife of a Philostratus, and who bestowed her
smiles on all who found admittance to her house seeking a feast for the
eye, a banquet for the ear, a pleasant entertainment?
Though her honor was as stainless as the breast of a swan--and he had no
reason to doubt it--she would still be classed with Aspasia and other
women whose guests sought more than songs and agreeable conversations.
The gifts with which the gods had so lavishly endowed her had already
been shared with too many to permit him, the last scion of a noble
Macedonian house, to think of leading her, as mistress, to the palace
whose erection he had so carefully and successfully planned with
Gorgias.
Surely it lacked nothing save the gracious rule of a mistress.
But if she should consent to become his without the blessing of Hymen?
No.
He could not thus dishonor the granddaughter of Didymus, the man who had
been his father's revered teacher, a woman whom he had always rejoiced
that, spite of the gay freedom with which she received so many admirers,
he could still esteem. He would not do so, though his friends would have
greeted such scruples with a smile of superiority. Who revered the
sacredness of marriage in a city whose queen was openly living for the
second time with the husband of another? Dion himself had formed many a
brief connection, but for that very reason he could not place a woman
like Barine on the same footing with those whose love he had perhaps
owed solely to his wealth. He had never lacked courage and resolution,
but he felt that this time he would have to resist a power with which he
had never coped.
That accursed face! Again and again it rose before his mental vision,
smiling and beckoning so sweetly that the day must come when the
yearning to realize the dream would conquer all opposition. If he
remained near her he would inevitably do what he might afterwards
regret, and therefore he would fain have offered a sacrifice to Peitho
to induce her to enhance Archibius's powers of persuasion and induce
Barine to leave Alexandria. It would be hard for him to part from her,
yet much would be gained if she went into the country. Between the
present and the distant period of a second meeting lay respite from
peril, and perhaps the possibility of victory. Dion did not recognize
himself. He seemed as unstable as a swaying reed, because he had
conquered his wish to re-enter old Didymus's house and encourage him,
and passed on to his own home. But he would probably have found Barine
still with her grandfather, and he would not meet her, though every
fibre of his being longed for her face, her voice, and a word of
gratitude from her beloved lips. Instead of joy, he was filled with the
sense of dissatisfaction which overpowers a man standing at a crossing
in the roads, who sees before him three goals, yet can be fully content
with neither.
The Street of the King, along which he suffered himself to be carried by
the excited throng, ran between the sea and the Theatre of Dionysus. The
thought darted through his mind that his friend the architect desired to
erect the luckless statues of the royal lovers in front of this stately
building. He would divert his thoughts by examining the site which
Gorgias had chosen.
The zither-player finished his hymn just as Dion approached the theatre,
and the crowd began to disperse. Every one was full of the joyful
tidings of victory, and one shouted to another what Anaxenor, the
favourite of the great Antony, who must surely know, had just recited in
thrilling verse. Many a joyous Io and loud Evoë to Cleopatra, the new
Isis, and Antony, the new Dionysus, resounded through the air, while
bearded and smooth, delicate Greek and thick Egyptian lips joined in the
shout, "To the Sebasteum!" This was the royal palace, which faced the
government building containing the Regent's residence. The populace
desired to have the delightful news confirmed, and to express, by a
public demonstration, the grateful joy which filled every heart.
Dion, too, was eager to obtain certainty, and, though usually averse to
mingling with the populace during such noisy outbursts of feeling, he
was preparing to follow the crowd thronging towards the Sebasteum, when
the shouts of runners clearing a passage for a closed litter fell upon
his ear.
It was occupied by Iras, the Queen's trusted attendant. If any one could
give accurate information, it was she; yet it would hardly be possible
to gain an opportunity of conversing with her in this throng. But Iras
must have had a different opinion; she had seen Dion, and now called him
to her side. There were hoarse tones in her voice, usually so clear and
musical, which betrayed the emotion raging in her breast as she assailed
the young Macedonian noble with a flood of questions. Without giving him
the usual greeting, she hastily desired to know what was exciting the
people, who had brought the tidings of victory, and whither the
multitude was flocking?
Dion had found it difficult not to be forced from the litter while
answering. Iris perceived this, and as they were just passing the
Mæander, the labyrinth, which was closed after sunset, she ordered her
bearers to carry the litter to the entrance, made herself known to the
watchman, ordered the outer court to be opened, the litter to be placed
there, and the bearers and runners to wait outside for her summons,
which would soon be given.
This unusual haste and excitement filled Dion with just solicitude. She
refused his invitation to alight and walk up and down, declaring that
life offered so many labyrinths that one need not seek them. He, too,
seemed to be following paths which were scarcely straight ones. "Why,"
she concluded, thrusting her head far out of the opening in the litter,
"are you rendering it so difficult for the Regent and your own uncle to
execute their plans, making common cause with the populace, like a paid
agitator?"
"Like Philostratus, you mean, on whom I bestowed a few blows in addition
to the golden guerdon received from your hand?"
"Ay, like him, for aught I care. Probably it was you, too, who had him
flung into the water, after you had vented your wrath on him? You
managed your cause well. What we do for love's sake is usually
successful. No matter, if only his brother Alexas does not rouse Antony
against you. For my part, I merely desire to know why and for whom all
this was done."
"For whom save the good old man who was my father's preceptor, and his
just claim?" replied Dion frankly. "Moreover--for no site more
unsuitable could be found than his garden--in behalf of good taste."
Iras laughed a shrill, short laugh, and her narrow, regularly formed
face, which might have been called beautiful, had not the bridge of the
straight delicate nose been too long and the chin too small, darkened
slightly, as she exclaimed, "That is frank at least."
"You ought to be accustomed to that from me," replied Dion calmly. "In
this case, however, the expert, Gorgias, fully shares my opinion."
"I heard that too. You are both the most constant visitors of--what is
the woman's name?--the bewitching Barine."
"Barine?" repeated Dion, as if the mention of the name surprised him.
"You take care, my friend, that our conversation does honour to its
scene, the labyrinth. I speak of works of the sculptor's art, and you
pretend that I am referring to what is most certainly a very successful
living work from the creative hands of the gods. I was very far from
thinking of the granddaughter of the old scholar for whom I interceded."
"Ay," she scornfully retorted, "young gentlemen in your position, and
with your habits of life, always think of their fathers estimable
teachers rather than of the women who, ever since Pandora opened her
box, have brought all sorts of misfortunes into the world. But," she
added, pushing back her dark locks from her high forehead, "I don't
understand myself, how, with the mountain of care that now burdens my
soul, I can waste even a single word upon such trifles. I care as little
for the aged scholar as I do for his legion of commentaries and books,
though they are not wholly unfamiliar to me. For any concern of mine he
might have as many grandchildren as there are evil tongues in
Alexandria, were it not that just at this time it is of the utmost
importance to remove everything which might cast a shadow on the Queen's
pathway. I have just come from the palace of the royal children at
Lochias, and what I learned there. But that--I will not, I cannot
believe it. It fairly stifles me!"
"Have you received bad news from the fleet?" questioned Dion, with
sincere anxiety; but she only bent her head in assent, laying her fan of
ostrich-plumes on her lips to enjoin silence, at the same time shivering
so violently that he perceived it, even in the dusk. It was evident that
speech was difficult, as she added in a muffled tone: "It must be kept
secret--Rhodian sailors--thank the gods, it is still very doubtful--it
cannot, must not be true--and yet--the prattle of that zither-player,
which has filled the multitude with joyous anticipation, is
abominable--the great ones of the earth are often most sorely injured by
those who owe them the most gratitude. I know you can be silent, Dion.
You could as a boy, if anything was to be hidden from our parents. Would
you still be ready to plunge into the water for me, as in those days?
Scarcely. Yet you may be trusted, and, even in this labyrinth, I will do
so. My heart is heavy. But not one word to any person. I need no
confidant and could maintain silence even towards you, but I am anxious
that you should understand me, you who have just taken such a stand.
Before I entered my litter at Lochias, the boy returned, and I talked
with him."
"Young Cæsarion loves Barine," replied Dion with grave earnestness.
"Then this horrible folly is known?" asked Iras excitedly. "A passion
far deeper than I should ever have expected this dreamer to feel has
taken possession of him. And if the Queen should now return--perhaps
less successful than we desire--if she looks to those from whom she
still expects pleasure, satisfaction, lofty deeds, and learns what has
befallen the boy--for what does not that sun-bright intellect learn and
perceive? He is dear to her, dearer than any of you imagine. How it will
increase her anxiety, perhaps her suffering! With what good reason she
will be angered against those whom duty and love should have commanded
to guard the boy!"
"And therefore," added Dion, "the stone of offence must be removed. Your
first step to secure this object was the attack on Didymus."
He had judged correctly and perceived that, in her assault upon the old
scholar, she had at first intended to play into the hands of the rulers,
work against the old philosopher and his relatives, among whose number
was Barine; for the Egyptian law permitted the relatives of those who
were convicted of any crime against the sovereign or the government to
be banished with the criminal. This attack upon an innocent person was
disgraceful, yet every word Iras uttered made Dion feel, every feature
of her face betrayed, that it was not merely base jealousy, but a nobler
emotion, that caused her to assail the guiltless sage--love for her
mistress, the desire which dominated her whole being to guard Cleopatra
from grief and trouble in these trying times. He knew Iras's iron will
and the want of consideration with which she had learned to pursue her
purpose at the court. His first object was to protect Barine from the
danger which threatened her; but he also wished to relieve the anxiety
of Iras, the daughter of Krates, his father's neighbour, with whom he
had played in boyhood and for whom he had never ceased to feel a tender
interest.
His remark surprised her. She saw that her plot was detected by the man
whose esteem she most valued, and a loving woman is glad to recognize
the superiority of her lover. Besides, from her earliest childhood--and
she was only two years younger than Dion--she had belonged to circles
where no quality was more highly prized than mental pliancy and
keenness. Her dark eyes, which at first had glittered distrustfully and
questioningly and afterwards glowed with a gloomy light, now gained a
new expression. Her gaze sought her friend's with a tender, pleading
look as, admitting his charge, she began: "Yes! Dion, the philosopher's
granddaughter must not stay here. Or do you see any other way to protect
the unhappy boy from incalculable misfortune? You know me well enough to
be aware that, like you, I am reluctant to infringe another's rights,
that except in case of necessity I am not cruel. I value your esteem. No
one is more truthful, and yesterday you averred that Eros had no part in
your visits to the much-admired young woman, that you joined her guests
merely because the society you found at her house afforded a pleasant
stimulus to the mind. I have ceased to believe in many things, but not
in you and your words, and if hearing that you had taken sides with the
grandfather, I fancied that you were secretly seeking the thanks and
gratitude of the granddaughter, why--surely the atrocious maxim that
Zeus does not hear the vows of lovers comes from you men--why, suspicion
again reared its head. Now you seem to share my opinion----"
"Like you," Dion interrupted, "I believe that Barine ought to be
withdrawn from the boy's pursuit, which cannot be more unpleasant to you
than to her. As Cæsarion neither can nor ought to leave Alexandria
while affairs are so threatening, nothing is left except to remove the
young woman--but, of course, in all kindness."
"In a golden chariot, garlanded with roses, if you so desire," cried
Iras eagerly.
"That might attract attention," answered Dion, smiling and raising his
hand as if to enjoin moderation. "Your mode of action does not please
me, even now that I know its purpose, but I will gladly aid you to
attain your object. Your crooked paths also lead to the goal, and
perhaps one is less likely to stumble in them; but straight ways suit me
better, and I think I have already found the right one. A friend will
invite Barine to an estate far away from here, perhaps in the lake
regions."
"You?" cried Iras, her narrow eyebrows suddenly contracting.
"Do you imagine that she would go with me?" he asked, in a faintly
reproachful tone. "No. Fortunately, we have older friends, and at their
head is one who happens to be your uncle and at the same time is wax in
the hands of the Queen."
"Archibius?" exclaimed Iras. "Ah! if he could persuade her to do so!"
"He will try. He, too, is anxious about the lad. While we are talking
here, he is inviting Barine to his estate. The country air will benefit
her."
"May she bloom there like a young shepherdess!"
"You are right to wish her the best fortune; for if the Queen does not
return victorious, the irritability of our Alexandrians will be doubled.
When you laid hands on Didymus's garden, you were so busily engaged in
building the triumphal arch that you forgot----"
"Who would have doubted the successful issue of this war?" cried Iras.
"And they will, they will conquer. The Rhodian said that the fleet was
scattered. The disaster happened on the Acharnanian coast. How positive
it sounded! But he had it only at second and third hand. And what are
mere rumours? The source of the false tidings is discovered later.
Besides, even if the naval battle were really lost, the powerful army,
which is far superior to Octavianus's forces, still remains. Which of
the enemy's generals could cope with Antony on the land? How he will
fight when all is at stake--fame, honour, sovereignty, hate, and love!
Away with this fear, based on mere rumour! After Dyrrachium Cæsar's
cause was deemed lost, and how soon Pharsalus made him master of the
world! Is it worthy of a sensible person to suffer courage to be
depressed by a sailor's gossip? And yet--yet! It began while I was ill.
And then the swallows on the Antonias, the admiral's ship. We have
already spoken of it. Mardion and your uncle Zeno saw with their own
eyes the strange swallows drive away those which had built their nest on
the helm of the Antonias, and kill the young ones with their cruel
beaks. An evil omen! I cannot forget it. And my dream, while I lay ill
with fever far away from my mistress! But I have already lingered here
too long. No, Dion, no. I am grateful for the rest here--I can now feel
at ease about Cæsarion. Place the monument where you choose. The people
shall see and hear that we respect their opposition, that we are just
and friendly. Help me to turn this matter to the advantage of the Queen,
and if Archibius succeeds in getting Barine away and keeping her in the
country, then--if I had aught that seemed to you desirable it should be
yours. But what does the petted Dion care for his fading playfellow?"
"Fading?" he repeated in a tone of indignant reproach. "Say rather the
fully developed flower has learned from her royal friend the secret of
eternal youth."
With a swift impulse of gratitude Iras bent her face towards him in the
dusk, extending the slender white hand--next to Cleopatra's famed as the
most beautiful at court--for him to kiss, but when he merely pressed his
lips lightly on it with no shadow of tenderness, she hastily withdrew
it, exclaiming as if overwhelmed by sudden repentance: "This idle,
hollow dalliance at such a time, with such a burden of anxiety
oppressing the heart! It is unworthy, shameful! If Barine goes with
Archibius, her time will scarcely hang heavy on his estates. I think I
know some one who will speedily follow to bear her company.--Here,
Sasis! the bearers! To the Tower of Nilus, before the Gate of the Sun!"
Dion gazed after her litter a short time, then passed his hand through
his waving brown hair, walked swiftly to the shore and, without pausing
long to choose, sprang into one of the boats which were rented for
pleasure voyages. Ordering the sailors who were preparing to accompany
him to remain on shore, he stretched the sail with a practised hand, and
ran out towards the mouth of the harbour. He needed some strong
excitement, and wished to go himself in search of news.