Many of the guests--all who had been seated in the podium--descended to
the arena, helped themselves from the dishes, and ate the fruit and
cakes. Gayly dressed slaves carried the refreshments to others, who had
remained in the rows of seats.
As soon as the barriers between the arena and the spectators were
removed, the guests passed freely to and fro, sometimes down to the
arena, sometimes back to their places; nay, they even mingled in the
dance of the Satyrs and Bacchantes. Many of the latter were suddenly
embraced by the Vandals, who swung with them in the frantic whirl.
The confusion grew more chaotic. Cheeks glowed with a deeper crimson,
fair and dark locks fluttered more wildly, and the musicians were
constantly obliged to play faster to keep pace with the increasing
excitement of the dancers.
Thrasabad now poured the wine most freely, for he was exhausted by his
exertions, and his vanity was stirred by the applause bestowed upon his
arrangements for the festival. Reclining on a soft panther-skin, in
front of a low drinking-table, he drained one goblet after another.
Glauke, whom he clasped with one arm, gazed anxiously at him, but dared
not utter a warning.
Thrasaric noticed her expression.
"Listen, brother," he said; "take care. The director of the festival is
the only one who must remain sober. And the wine is heavy, and you
know, little brother, you can't stand much because you talk too fast
while you are drinking."
"There--is--no--no danger!" replied the other, already stammering the
words with difficulty. "Come forth. Iris and ye gods of love!" He waved
the staff; it fell from his hand and Glauke laid it by his side.
Suddenly the arched roof of the large silk tent which spanned the arena
opened. A rain of flowers--principally roses and lilies--fell upon the
altar, the tables, the dancers; a fragrant liquid, scarcely perceptible
as a light mist, was sprinkled from invisible pipes over the arena and
the seats of the spectators. All at once, breaking through a gray cloud
high up at the back of the arena, appeared a sun, shedding a soft
golden light.
"Helios is smiling through the shower of rain," cried Thrasabad; "so
Iris is probably not far distant."
At these words the seven-striped bow, glowing magnificently in vivid
colors, arched above the whole arena. A young girl, supported by golden
clouds, and holding a veil of the seven hues draped gracefully about
her head, flew from the right to the left high above the stage. As soon
as she had vanished, the rainbow and the sun disappeared too, and
while shouts of surprise still rang through the Amphitheatre, a band
of charming Loves--children from four to nine years old, boys and
girls--were seen floating by chains of roses from the opening of the
tent to the steps of the altar. Received by slaves, who released them
from the flowery fetters, they grouped themselves on the steps around
the muffled figure, toward which all eyes were now directed with eager
curiosity.
Then Thrasabad, still clasping Glauke, sprang from the drinking table
to the altar. The Ionian had just taken a freshly filled goblet from
his hand. The roars of applause which now burst forth fairly turned the
vain youth's head; he staggered visibly as he stood on the highest
step, dragging the struggling girl with him. "Look, brother," he called
in an unsteady voice; "this is _my_ wedding gift. In the senator's
villa at Cirta--what is his name? He was burned because he clung
obstinately to the Catholic faith. Never mind. I bought the villa from
the fiscus; it stands on the foundations of a very ancient one, adorned
with imperial splendor, superb mosaics, hunting scenes, with stags,
hounds, noble horses, beautiful women under palm-trees! In repairing
the cellar this statue was dug out from beneath broken columns; it is
said to be more than five hundred years old,--a gem of the best period
of Greek art. So my freedman says, who understands such things, an
Aphrodite. Show yourself, Queen of Paphos! I give her to you, brother."
He seized a broad-bladed knife which lay on the pedestal, cut a cord,
and dropped the knife again. The covers fell; a wonderfully beautiful
Aphrodite, nobly modelled in white marble, appeared.
The Loves knelt around the feet of the goddess, and twined garlands of
flowers about her knees. At the same moment a dazzling white light fell
from above upon the altar and the goddess, brilliantly irradiating the
arena, which was usually not too brightly illumined by lamps.
The acclamation of thousands of voices burst forth still more
tumultuously, the dancers whirled in swifter circles, the drums and
cymbals crashed louder than ever; but the sudden increase of uproar and
the vivid, dazzling light also reached the open grating of the tiger's
cage. He uttered a terrible roar and sprang with a mighty leap against
the bars, one of which fell noiselessly out on the soft sand. No one
noticed it, for another scene was taking place around the goddess on
the high steps of the altar.
"I thank you, brother," cried Thrasaric. "She is indeed the fairest
woman that can be imagined."
"Yes," replied Modigisel. "What do you mean, Astarte? Are you sneering?
What fault can you find there?"
"That is no woman," said the Carthaginian, icily, scarcely parting her
lips; "that is only a stone. Go there, kiss it, if it seems to you more
beautiful than--"
"Astarte is right," shouted Thrasabad, madly. "She is right! What use
is a stone Aphrodite? A lifeless, marble-cold goddess of love! She
clasps her arms forever across her bosom; she cannot open them for a
blissful embrace. And what a stern dignity of expression, as though
love were the most serious, deadly-earnest, sacred thing. No, marble
statue, you are _not_ the fairest woman! The fairest woman--far more
beautiful than you--is my Aphrodite here. The fairest woman in the
world is mine. You shall acknowledge it with envy! I will, I will be
envied for her! You shall all confess it!"
And with surprising strength he dragged the Greek, who resisted with
all her power, up beside him, swung her upon the broad pedestal of the
statue, and tore wildly at the white silk coverlet which, while on the
ship, Glauke had thrown over her shoulders, and the transparent Coan
robe.
"Stop! Stop, beloved! Do not dishonor me before all eyes!" pleaded the
girl, struggling in despair. "Stop--or by the Most High--"
But the Vandal, who had lost all self-control, laughed loudly. "Away
with the envious veil!"
Once more he pulled down the coverlet and the robe. Steel flashed in
the light (the Ionian had snatched the knife from the pedestal), a warm
red stream sprinkled Thrasabad's face, and the slight figure, already
crimsoned with blood, sank at the feet of the marble statue.
"Glauke!" cried the Vandal, suddenly sobered by the shock.
But at the same moment, outside the Amphitheatre rose in a note
of menace a brazen, warlike blare, dominating the loudest swell
of the music,--for the dance of Satyrs and Bacchantes was still
continuing,--the blast of the Vandal horns. And from the doors, as well
as from the highest seats, which afforded a view of the grove, a cry of
terror from thousands of voices filled the spacious building: "The
_King_! King Gelimer!"
The spectators, seized with fear, poured out of all the exits.
Thrasaric drew himself up to his full height, lifted the trembling
Eugenia on his strong arm, and forced his way through the throng. The
voice of the director of the festival was no longer heard. Thrasabad
lay prostrate at the feet of the silent marble goddess, clasping in his
arms the beautiful Glauke--lifeless.
Soon he was alone with her in the vast deserted building.
Outside--far away--rose the uproar of voices in dispute, but the
silence of death reigned in the Amphitheatre; even the tiger made no
sound, as if bewildered by the sudden stillness and emptiness.
It was past midnight.
A light breeze rose, stirring the silk roof of the tent, and sweeping
together the roses which lay scattered over the arena.