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A THORNY PATH
By Georg Ebers
Volume 9.
CHAPTER XXVI
The lady Euryale's silent prayer was interrupted by the return of
Alexander. He brought the clothes which Seleukus's wife had given him
for Melissa. He was already dressed in his best, and crowned like all
those who occupied the first seats in the Circus; but his festal garb
accorded ill with the pained look on his features, from which every trace
had vanished of the overflowing joy in life which had embellished them
only this morning.
He had seen and heard things which made him feel that it would no longer
be a sacrifice to give his life to save his sister.
Sad thoughts had flitted across his cheerful spirit like dark bats, even
while he was talking with Melissa and her protectress, for he knew well
how infinitely hard his father would find it to have to quit Alexandria;
and if he himself fled with Melissa he would be obliged to give up the
winning of fair Agatha. The girl's Christian father had indeed received
him kindly, but had given him to understand plainly enough that he would
never allow a professed heathen to sue for his daughter's hand. Besides
this, he had met with other humiliations which placed themselves like a
wall between him and his beloved, the only child of a rich and respected
man. He had forfeited the right of appearing before Zeus as a suitor;
for indeed he was no longer such as he had been only yesterday.
The news that Caracalla proposed to marry Melissa had been echoed by
insolent tongues, with the addition that he, Alexander, had ingratiated
himself with Caesar by serving him as a spy. No one had expressly said
this to him; but, while he was hurrying through the city in Caesar's
chariot, on the ladies' message, it had been made very plain to his
apprehension. Honest men had avoided him--him to whom hitherto every one
for whose regard he cared had held out a friendly hand; and much else
that he had experienced in the course of this drive had been unpleasant
enough to give rise to a change of his whole inner being.
The feeling that every one was pointing at him the finger of scorn,
or of wrath, had never ceased to pursue him. And he had been under no
illusion; for when he met the old sculptor Lysander, who only yesterday
had so kindly told him and Melissa about Caesar's mother, as he nodded
from the chariot his greeting was not returned; and the honest artist had
waved his hand with a gesture which no Alexandrian could fail to
understand as meaning, "I no longer know you, and do not wish to be
recognized by you."
He had from his childhood loved Diodoros as a brother, and in one of the
side streets, down which the chariot had turned to avoid the tumult in
the Kanopic way, Alexander had seen his old friend. He had desired the
charioteer to stop, and had leaped out on the road to speak to Diodoros
and give him at once Melissa's message; but the young man had turned his
back with evident displeasure, and to the painter's pathetic appeal,
"But, at any rate, hear me!" he answered, sharply: "The less I hear of
you and yours the better for me. Go on--go on, in Caesar's chariot!"
With this he had turned away and knocked at the door of an architect who
was known to them both; and Alexander, tortured with painful feelings,
had gone on, and for the first time the idea had taken possession of him
that he had indeed descended to the part of spy when he had betrayed to
Caesar what Alexandrian wit had to say about him. He could, of course,
tell himself that he would rather have faced death or imprisonment than
have betrayed to Caracalla the name of one of the gibers; still, he had
to admit to himself that, but for the hope of saving his father and
brother from death and imprisonment, he would hardly have done Caesar
such service. The mercy shown to them was certainly too like payment,
and his own part in the matter struck him as hateful and base. His
fellow-townsmen had a right to bear him a grudge, and his friends to keep
out of his way. A feeling came over him of bitter self-contempt,
hitherto strange to him; and he understood for the first time how Philip
could regard life as a burden and call it a malicious Danaus-gift of the
gods. When, finally, in the Kanopic way, close in front of Seleukus's
house, a youth unknown to him cried, scornfully, as the chariot was
slowly making its way through the throng, "The brother-in-law of
Tarautas!" he had great difficulty in restraining himself from leaping
down and letting the rascal feel the weight of his fists. He knew, too,
that Tarautas was the name of a hateful and bloodthirsty gladiator which
had been given as a nickname to Caesar in Rome; and when he heard the
insolent fellow's cry taken up by the mob, who shouted after him,
"Tarautas's brother-in-law!" wherever he went, he felt as though he were
being pelted with mire and stones.
It would have been a real comfort to him if the earth would have opened
to swallow him with the chariot, to hide him from the sight of men. He
could have burst out crying like a child that has been beaten. When at
last he was safe inside Seleukus's house, he was easier; for here he was
known; here he would be understood. Berenike must know what he thought
of Caesar's suit, and seeing her wholesome and honest hatred, he had
sworn to himself that he would snatch his sister from the hands of the
tyrant, if it were to lead him to the most agonizing death.
While she was engaged in selecting a dress for her protegee, he related
to the lady Euryale what had happened to him in the street and in the
house of Seleukus. He had been conducted past the soldiers in the
vestibule and impluvium to the lady's private rooms, and there he had
been witness to a violent matrimonial dispute. Seleukus had previously
delivered to his wife Caesar's command that she should appear in the
Amphitheater with the other noble dames of the city. Her answer was a
bitter laugh, and a declaration that she would mingle with the spectators
in none but mourning robes. Thereupon her husband, pointing out to her
the danger to which such conduct would expose them, had raised
objections, and she at last had seemed to yield. When Alexander joined
her he had found her in a splendid dress of shining purple brocade, her
black hair crowned with a wreath of roses, and a splendid diadem; a
garland of roses hung across her bosom, and precious stones sparkled
round her throat and arms. In short, she was arrayed like a happy mother
for her daughter's wedding-day.
Soon after Alexander's arrival Seleukus had come in, and this
conspicuously handsome dress, so unbecoming to the matron's age, and so
unlike her usual attire-chosen, evidently, to put the monstrosity of
Caesar's demand in the strongest light--had roused her husband's wrath.
He had expressed his dissatisfaction in strong terms, and again pointed
out to her the danger in which such a daring demonstration might involve
them; but this time there was no moving the lady; she would not despoil
herself of a single rose. After she had solemnly declared that she would
appear in the Circus either as she thought fit or not at all, her husband
had left her in anger.
"What a fool she is!" Euryale exclaimed.
Then she showed him a white robe of beautiful bombyx, woven in the isle
of Kos, which she had decided on for Melissa, and a peplos with a border
of tender sea-green; and Alexander approved of the choice.
Time pressed, and Euryale went at once to Melissa with the new festal
raiment. Once more she nodded kindly to the girl, and begged her, as she
herself had something to discuss with Alexander, to allow the waiting-
woman to dress her. She felt as if she were bringing the robe to a
condemned creature, in which she was to be led to execution, and Melissa
felt the same.
Euryale then returned to the painter, and bade him end his narrative.
The lady Berenike had forthwith desired Johanna to pack together all the
dead Korinna's festal dresses. Alexander had then followed her guidance,
accompanying her to a court in the slaves' quarters, where a number of
men were awaiting her. These were the captains of Seleukus's ships,
which were now in port, and the superintendents of his granaries and
offices, altogether above a hundred freedmen in the merchant's service.
Each one seemed to know what he was here for.
The matron responded to their hearty greetings with a word of thanks, and
added, bitterly:
"You see before you a mourning mother whom a ruthless tyrant compels to
go to a festival thus--thus--only look at me--bedizened like a peacock!"
At this the bearded assembly gave loud expression to their
dissatisfaction, but Berenike went on "Melapompus has taken care to
secure good places; but he has wisely not taken them all together. You
are all free men; I have no orders to give you. But, if you are indeed
indignant at the scorn and heart-ache inflicted on your lord's wife, make
it known in the Circus to him who has brought them on her. You are all
past your first youth, and will carefully avoid any rashness which may
involve you in ruin. May the avenging gods aid and protect you!"
With this she had turned her back on the multitude; but Johannes, the
Christian lawyer, the chief freedman of the household, had hurried into
the court-yard, just in time to entreat her to give up this ill-starred
demonstration, and to extinguish the fire she had tried to kindle.
So long as Caesar wore the purple, rebellion against him, to whom the
Divinity had intrusted the sovereignty, was a sin. The scheme she was
plotting was meant to punish him who had pained her; but she forgot that
it might cost these brave men, husbands and fathers, their life or
liberty. The vengeance she called on them to take might be balm to the
wounds of her own heart; but if Caesar in his wrath brought destruction
down on these, her innocent instruments, that balm would turn to burning
poison.
These words, whispered to her with entire conviction, had not been
without their effect. For some minutes Berenike had stared gloomily at
the ground; but then she had again approached the assembly, to repeat the
warning given her by the Christian, whom all respected, and by whom some
indeed had been persuaded to be baptized.
"Johannes is right," she ended. "This ill-used heart did wrong when it
sent up its cry of anguish before you. Rather will I be trodden under
foot by the enemy, as is the manner of the Christians, than bring such
misfortune on innocent men, who are so faithful to our house. Be
cautious, then. Give no overt expression to your feelings. Let each one
who feels too weak to control his wrath, avoid the Circus; and those who
go, keep still if they feel moved to act in my behalf. One thing
only you may do. Tell every one, far and wide, what I had purposed.
What others may do, they themselves must answer for."
The Christian had strongly disapproved of this last clause; but Berenike
had paid no heed, and had left the court-yard, followed by Alexander.
The shouts of the indignant multitude had rung in their ears, and, in
spite of her warning, they had sounded like a terrible threat. Johannes,
to be sure, had remained, to move them to moderation by further
remonstrances.
"What were the mad creatures plotting?" Euryale anxiously broke in; and
he hastily went on "They call Caesar by no name but Tarautas; every mouth
is full of gibes and rage at the new and monstrous taxes, the billeting
of the troops, and the intolerable insolence of the soldiery, which
Caracalla wickedly encourages. His contemptuous indifference has deeply
offended the heads of the town. And then his suit to my sister! Young
and old are wagging their tongues over it."
"It would be more like them to triumph in it," said the matron,
interrupting him. "An Alexandrian in the purple, on the throne of the
Caesars!"
"I too had hoped that," cried Alexander, "and it seemed so likely. But
who can understand the populace? Every woman in the place, I should have
thought, would hold her head higher, at the thought that an Alexandrian
girl was empress; but it was from the women that I heard the most
vindictive and shameless abuse. I heard more than enough; for, as we got
closer to the Serapeum, the more slowly was the chariot obliged to
proceed, to make its way through the crowd. And the things I heard! I
clinch my fists now as I only think of them.--And what will it be in the
Circus? What will not Melissa have to endure!"
"It is envy," the matron murmured to herself; but she was immediately
silent, for the young girl came toward them, out of the bedroom. Her
toilet was complete; the beautiful white dress became her well. The
wreath of roses, with diamond dewdrops, lay lightly on her hair, the
snake-shaped bracelet which her imperial suitor had sent her clasped her
white arm, and her small head, somewhat bent, her pale, sweet face, and
large, bashful, inquiring, drooping eyes formed such an engaging, modest,
and unspeakably touching picture, that Euryale dared to hope that even in
the Circus none but hardened hearts could harbor a hostile feeling
against this gentle, pure blossom, slightly drooping with silent sorrow.
She could not resist the impulse to kiss Melissa, and the half-formed
purpose ripened within her to venture the utmost for the child's
protection. The pity in her heart had turned to love; and when she saw
that to this sweet creature, at the mere sight of whom her heart went
forth, the most splendid jewels, in which any other girl would have been
glad to deck herself, were as a heavy burden to be borne but sadly, she
felt it a sacred duty to comfort her and lighten this trial, and shelter
Melissa, so far as was in her power, from insult and humiliation.
It was many years since she had visited the Amphitheater, where the
horrible butchery was an abomination to her; but to-day her heart bade
her conquer her old aversion, and accompany the girl to the Circus.
Had not Melissa taken the place in her heart of her lost daughter? Was
not she, Euryale, the only person who, by showing herself with Melissa
and declaring herself her friend, could give the people assurance that
the girl, who was exposed to misapprehension and odium by the favor she
had met with from the ruthless and hated sovereign, was in truth pure and
lovable? Under her guardianship, by her side, the girl, as she knew,
would be protected from misapprehension and insult; and she, an old woman
and a Christian, should she evade the first opportunity of taking up a
cross in imitation of the Divine Master, among whose followers she
joyfully counted herself--though secretly, for fear of men? All this
flashed through her mind with the swiftness of lightning, and her call,
"Doris!" addressed to her waiting-woman, was so clear and unexpected that
Melissa's overstrung nerves were startled. She looked up at the lady in
amazement, as, without a word of explanation, she said to the woman who
had hurried in:
"The blue robe I wore at the festival of Adonis, my mother's diadem,
and a large gem with the head of Serapis for my shoulder. My hair--oh,
a veil will cover it! What does it matter for an old woman?--You, child,
why do you look at me in such amazement? What mother would allow a
pretty young daughter to appear alone in the Circus? Besides, I may
surely hope that it will confirm your courage to feel that I am at your
side. Perhaps the populace may be moved a little in your favor if the
wife of the high-priest of their greatest god is your companion."
But she could scarcely end her speech, for Melissa had flown into her
arms, exclaiming, "And you will do this for me?" while Alexander, deeply
touched by gratitude and joy, kissed her thin arm and the hem of her
peplos.
While Melissa helped the matron to change her dress--in the next room
Alexander paced to and fro in great unrest. He knew the Alexandrians,
and there was not the slightest doubt but that the presence of this
universally revered lady would make them look with kindlier eyes on his
sister. Nothing else could so effectually impress them with the entire
propriety of her appearance in the Circus. The more seriously he had
feared that Melissa might be deeply insulted and offended by the rough
demonstrations of the mob, the more gratefully did his heart beat; nay,
his facile nature saw in this kind act the first smile of returning good
fortune.
He only longed to be hopeful once more, to enjoy the present--as so many
philosophers and poets advised--and especially the show in the Circus,
his last pleasure, perhaps; to forget the imminent future.
The old bright look came back to his face; but it soon vanished, for even
while he pictured himself in the amphitheatre, he remembered that there,
too, his former acquaintances might refuse to speak to him; that the
odious names of "Tarautas' brother-in-law" or of "traitor" might be
shouted after him on the road. A cold chill came over him, and the image
of pretty Ino rose up before him--Ino, who had trusted in his love; and
to whom, of all others, he had given cause to accuse him of false-
heartedness. An unpleasant sense came over him of dissatisfaction with
himself, such as he, who always regarded self-accusation, repentance,
and atonement as a foolish waste of life, had never before experienced.
The fine, sunny autumn day had turned to a sultry, dull evening, and
Alexander went to the window to let the sea-breeze fan his dewy brow; but
he soon heard voices behind him, for Euryale and Melissa had re-entered
the room, followed by the house-steward, who presented to his mistress a
sealed tablet which a slave had just brought from Philostratus. The
women had been talking of Melissa's vow; and Euryale had promised her
that, if Fate should decide against Caesar, she would convey the girl to
a place of safety, where she could certainly not be discovered, and might
look forward in peace to the future. Then she had impressed on her that,
if things should be otherwise ordered, she must endure even the
unendurable with patience, as an obedient wife, as empress, but still
ever conscious of the solemn and beneficent power she might wield in her
new position.
The tablets would now settle the question; and side by side the two women
hastily read the missive which Philostratus had written on the wax, in
his fine, legible hand. It was as follows:
"The condemned have ceased to live. Your efforts had no effect but to
hasten their end. Caesar's desire was to rid you of adversaries even
against your will. Vindex and his nephew are no more; but I embarked
soon enough to escape the rage of him who might have attained the highest
favors of fortune if he had but known how to be merciful."
"God be praised!--but alas, poor Vindex!" cried Euryale, as she laid down
the tablets. But Melissa kissed her, and then exclaimed to her brother:
"Now all doubts are at an end. I may fly. He himself has settled the
matter!"
Then she added, more gently, but still urgently "Do you take care of my
father, and Philip, and of yourself. The lady Euryale will protect me.
Oh, how thankful am I!"
She looked up to heaven with fervent devotion Euryale whispered to them:
"My plan is laid. As soon as the performance is over, Alexander shall
take you home, child, to your father's house; you must go in one of
Caesar's chariots. Afterward come back here with your brother; I will
wait for you below. But now we will go together to the Circus, and can
discuss the details on our way. You, my young friend, go now and order
away the imperial litter; bid my steward to have the horses put to my
covered harmamaxa. There is room in it for us all three."
By the time Alexander returned, the daylight was waning, and the clatter
of the chariots began to be audible which conveyed Caesar's court to the
Circus.
CHAPTER XXVIL
The great Amphitheatre of Dionysus was in the Bruchium, the splendid
palatial quarter of the city, close to the large harbor between the Choma
and the peninsula of Lochias. Hard by the spacious and lofty rotunda, in
which ten thousand spectators could be seated, stood the most fashionable
gymnasia and riding-schools. These buildings, which had been founded
long since by the Ptolemiac kings, and had been repeatedly extended and
beautified, formed, with the adjoining schools for gladiators and beast-
fighters, and the stables for wild beasts from every part of the world, a
little town by themselves.
At this moment the amphitheatre looked like a beehive, of which every
cell seems to be full, but in which a whole swarm expects yet to find
room. The upper places, mere standing-room for the common people, and
the cheaper seats, had been full early in the day. By the afternoon the
better class of citizens had come in, if their places were not reserved;
and now, at sunset, those who were arriving in litters and chariots, just
before the beginning of the show, were for the most part in Caesar's
train, court officials, senators, or the rich magnates of the city.
The strains of music were by this time mingling with the shouting and
loud talk of the spectators, or of the thousands who were crowding round
the building without hoping to obtain admission. But even for them there
was plenty to be seen. How delightful to watch the well-dressed women,
and the men of rank and wealth, crowned with wreaths, as they dismounted;
to see the learned men and artists arrive--more or less eagerly
applauded, according to the esteem in which they were held by the
populace! The most splendid sight of all was the procession of priests,
with Timotheus, the high-priest of Serapis, at their head, and by his
side the priest of Alexander, both marching with dignity under a canopy.
They were followed by the animals to be slaughtered for sacrifice, and
the images of the gods and the deified Caesars, which were to be placed
in the arena, as the most worshipful of all the spectators. Timotheus
wore the splendid insignia of his office; the priest of Alexander was in
purple, as being the idiologos and head of all the temples of Egypt, and
representative of Caesar.
The advent of the images of the Caesars gave rise to a sort of judgment
of the dead: for the mob hailed that of Julius Caesar with enthusiasm,
that of Augustus, with murmurs of disapproval; when Caligula appeared, he
was hissed; while the statues of Vespasian, Titus, Hadrian, and Antonine,
met with loud acclamations. That of Septimius Severus, Caracalla's
father, to whom the town owed many benefits, was very well received. The
images of the gods, too, had very various fates. Serapis, and Alexander,
the divine hero of the town, were enthusiastically welcomed, while
scarcely a voice was heard on the approach of Zeus-Jupiter and Ares-Mars.
They were regarded as the gods of the hated Romans.
The companies of the imperial body-guard, who were placed about the
amphitheatre, found no great difference, so long as it was daylight,
between the crowd round the Circus of Alexandria and that by the Tiber.
What chiefly struck them was the larger number of dusky faces, and the
fanciful garb of the Magians. The almost naked rabble, too, with nothing
on but a loin-cloth, who wriggled in and out of the throng, ready for any
service or errand, formed a feature unknown at Rome. But, as it grew
darker, the Romans began to perceive that it was not for nothing that
they had come hither.
At Rome, when some great show was promised, of beast-fighting,
gladiators, and the like, there were, no doubt, barbarian princes to be
seen, and envoys from the remotest ends of the earth in strange and
gorgeous array; and there, too, small wares of every kind were for sale.
By the Tiber, again, night shows were given, with grand illuminations,
especially for the feast of Flora; but here, as soon as the sun had set,
and the sports were about to begin, the scene was one never to be
forgotten. Some of the ladies who descended from the litters, wore
garments of indescribable splendor; the men even displayed strange and
handsome costumes as they were helped out of their gilt and plated
chariots by their servants. What untold wealth must these men have at
their command, to be able to dress their slaves in gold and silver
brocade; and the runners, who kept up with the swiftest horses, must have
lungs of iron! The praetorians, who had not for many a day seen anything
to cause them to forget the motto of the greatest philosopher among their
poets--never to be astonished at anything--repeatedly pushed each other
with surprise and admiration; nay, the centurion Julius Martialis, who
had just now had a visit in camp from his wife and children, in defiance
of orders, while Caesar himself was looking on, struck his fist on his
greaves, and, exclaiming loudly, "Look out!" pointed to Seleukus's
chariot, for which four runners, in tunics with long sleeves, made of
sea-green bombyx, richly embroidered with silver, were making a way
through the crowd.
The barefooted lads, with their nimble, gazellelike legs, were all well
looking, and might have been cast all in one mold. But what struck the
centurion and his comrades as most remarkable in their appearance were
the flash and sparkle from their slender ankles, as the setting sun
suddenly shot a fleeting ray through a rift in the heavy clouds. Each of
these fellows wore on his legs gold bands set with precious stones, and
the rubies which glittered on the harness of Seleukus's horse were of far
greater value.
He, as master of the festival, had come betimes, and this was the first
of many such displays of wealth which followed each other in quick
succession, as soon as the brief twilight of Egypt had given way to
darkness, and the lighting up of the Circus was begun.
Here came a beautifully dressed woman in a roomy litter, over which waved
a canopy entirely of white ostrich-plumes, which the evening breeze
swayed like a thicket of fern-leaves. This throne was borne by ten black
and ten white slave-girls, and before it two fair children rode on tame
ostriches. The tall heir of a noble house, who, like Caesar at Rome,
belonged to the "Blues," drove his own team of four splendid white
horses; and he himself was covered with turquoises, while the harness was
set with cut sapphires.
The centurion shook his head in silent admiration. His face had been
tanned in many wars, both in the East and West, and he had fought even in
distant Caledonia, but the low forehead, loose under lip, and dull eye
spoke of small gifts of intellect. Nevertheless, he was not lacking in
strength of will, and was regarded by his comrades as a good beast of
burden who would submit to a great deal before it became too much for
him. But then he would break out like a mad bull, and he might long ago
have risen to higher rank, had he not once in such a fit of passion
nearly throttled a fellow-soldier. For this crime he had been severely
punished, and condemned to begin again at the bottom of the ladder. He
owed it chiefly to the young tribune Aurelius Apollinaris that he had
very soon regained the centurion's staff, in spite of his humble birth;
he had saved that officer's life in the war with the Armenians--to be
here, in Alexandria, cruelly mutilated by the hand of his sovereign.
The centurion had a faithful heart. He was as much attached to the two
noble brothers as to his wife and children, for indeed he owed them much;
and if the service had allowed it he would long since have made his way
to the house of Seleukus to learn how the wounded tribune was faring.
But he had not time even to see his own family, for his younger and
richer comrades, who wanted to enjoy the pleasures of the city, had put
upon him no small share of their own duties. Only this morning a young
soldier of high birth, who had begun his career at the same time as
Martialis, had promised him some tickets of admission to the evening's
performance in the Circus if he would take his duty on guard outside the
amphitheatre. And this offer had been very welcome to the centurion, for
he thus found it possible to give those he loved best, his wife and his
mother, the greatest treat which could be offered to any Alexandrian.
And now, when anything noteworthy was to be seen outside, he only
regretted that he had already some time since conducted them to their
seats in one of the upper rows. He would have liked that they, too,
should have seen the horses and the chariots and the "Blue" charioteer's
turquoises and sapphires; although a decurion observed, as he saw them,
that a Roman patrician would scorn to dress out his person with such
barbaric splendor, and an Alexandrian of the praetorian guard declared
that his fellow-citizens of Greek extraction thought more of a graceful
fold than of whole strings of precious stones.
"But why, then, was this 'Blue' so vehemently hailed by the mob!" asked a
Pannonian in the guard.
"The mob!" retorted the Alexandrian, scornfully. "Only the Syrians and
other Asiatics. Look at the Greeks. The great merchant Seleukus is the
richest of them all, but splendid as his horses, his chariots, and his
slaves are, he himself wears only the simple Macedonian mantle. Though
it is of costly material, who would suspect it? If you see a man
swaggering in such a blaze of gems you may wager your house--if you have
one--that his birthplace lies not very far from Syria."
"Now, that one, in a mother-of-pearl shell on two wheels, is the Jew
Poseidonius," the Pannonian put in. "I am quartered on his father. But
he is dressed like a Greek."
At this the centurion, in his delight at knowing something, opened his
mouth with a broad grin: "I am a native here," said he, "and I can tell
you the Jew would make you answer for it if you took him for anything but
a Greek."
"And quite right," added another soldier, from Antioch. "The Jews here
are many, but they have little in common with those in Palestine. They
wish to pass for Greeks; they speak Greek, assume Greek names, and even
cease to believe in the great God their father; they study Greek
philosophy, and I know one who worships in the Temple of Serapis."
"Many do the same in Rome," said a man of Ostia. "I know an epigram
which ridicules them for it."
At this point they were interrupted, for Martialis pointed to a tall man
who was coming toward them, and whom his sharp eye had recognized as
Macrinus, the prefect of the praetorians. In an instant the soldiers
were erect and rigid, but still many a helmeted head was turned toward
the spot where their chief stood talking in an undertone to the Magian
Serapion.
Macrinus had persuaded Caesar to send for the exorciser, to test his
arts. Immediately after the performance, however late it might be, the
Magian was to be admitted to his presence.
Serapion thanked the prefect, and then whispered to him, "I have had a
second revelation."
"Not here!" exclaimed Macrinus, uneasily, and, leading away his handsome
little son, he turned toward the entrance.
Dusk, meanwhile, had given way to darkness, and several slaves stood
ready to light the innumerable little lamps which were to illuminate the
outside of the Circus. They edged the high arches which surrounded the
two lower stories, and supported the upper ranks of the enormous circular
structure. Separated only by narrow intervals, the rows of lights formed
a glittering series of frames which outlined the noble building and
rendered it visible from afar.
The arches on the ground-floor led to the cells from which the men and
beasts were let out into the arena; but some, too, were fitted with
shops, where flowers and wreaths, refreshments, drinks, handkerchiefs,
fans, and other articles in request, were sold. On the footway between
the building and the row of pitch torches which surrounded it, men and
women in thousands were walking to and fro. Smart, inquisitive girls
were pushing their way singly or in groups, and their laughter drowned
the deep, tragical voices of the soothsayers and Magians who announced
their magic powers to the passersby. Some of these even made their way
into the waiting-rooms of the gladiators and wrestlers, who to-day so
greatly needed their support that, in spite of severe and newly enforced
prohibitions, many a one stole out into the crowd to buy some effectual
charm or protecting amulet.
Where the illuminations were completed, attempts of another kind were
being made to work upon the mood of the people; nimble-tongued fellows--
some in the service of Macrinus and some in that of the anxious senate--
were distributing handkerchiefs to wave on Caesar's approach, or flowers
to strew in his path. More than one, who was known for a malcontent,
found a gold coin in his hand, with the image of the monarch he was
expected to hail; and on the way by which Caesar was to come many of
those who awaited him wore the caracalla. These were for the most part
bribed, and their acclamations were to mollify the tyrant's mood.
As soon as the prefect had disappeared within the building, the
praetorian ranks fell out again. It was lucky that among them were
several Alexandrians, besides the centurion Martialis, who had not long
been absent from their native town; for without them much would have
remained incomprehensible. The strangest thing to foreign eyes was a
stately though undecorated harmamaxa, out of which stepped first a
handsome wreathed youth, then a matron of middle age, and at last an
elegantly dressed girl, whose rare beauty made even Martialis--who rarely
noticed women--exclaim, "Now, she is to my taste the sweetest-thing of
all."
But there must have been something very remarkable about these three; for
when they appeared the crowd broke out at first in loud shouts and
outcries, which soon turned to acclamations and welcome, though through
it all shrill whistles and hisses were heard.
"Caesar's new mistress, the daughter of a gemcutter!" the Alexandrian
muttered to his comrades. That handsome boy is her brother, no doubt.
He is said to be a mean sycophant, a spy paid by Caesar."
"He?" said an older centurion, shaking his scarred head. "Sooner would
I believe that the shouts of the populace were intended for the old woman
and not for the young one."
"Then a sycophant he is and will remain," said the Alexandrian with a
laugh. "For, as a matter of fact, it is the elder lady they are
greeting, and, by Heracles, she deserves it! She is the wife of the
high-priest of Serapis. There are few poor in this city to whom she has
not done a kindness. She is well able, no doubt, for her husband is the
brother of Seleukus, and her father, too, sat over his ears in gold."
"Yes, she is able," interrupted Martialis, with a tone of pride, as
though it were some credit to himself. "But how many have even more,
and keep their purse-strings tight! I have known her since she was a
child, and she is the best of all that is good. What does not the town
owe to her! She risked her life to move Caesar's father to mercy toward
the citizens, after they had openly declared against him and in favor of
his rival Pescennius Niger. And she succeeded, too."
"Why, then, are they whistling?" asked the older centurion.
"Because her companion is a spy," repeated the Alexandrian. "And the
girl--In Caesar's favor! But, after all, which of you all would not
gladly see his sister or his niece Caesar's light of love?"
"Not I!" cried Martialis. "But the man who speaks ill of that girl only
does so because he likes blue eyes best. The maiden who comes in the
lady Euryale's chariot is spotless, you may swear."
"Nay, nay," said the younger Alexandrian soothingly. "That black-haired
fellow and his companions would whistle another tune if they knew any
evil of her, and she would not be in the lady Euryale's company--that is
the chief point--. But, look there! The shameless dogs are stopping
their way! 'Green' to a man.--But here come the lictors."
"Attention!" shouted Martialis, firmly resolved to uphold the guardians
of the peace, and not to suffer any harm to the matron and her fair
companion; for Euryale's husband was the brother of Seleukus, whom his
father and father-in-law had served years ago, while in the villa at
Kanopus his mother and wife were left in charge to keep it in order. He
felt that he was bound in duty to the merchant, and that all who were of
that household had a right to count on his protection. But no active
measures were needed; a number of "Blues" had driven off the "Greens" who
had tried to bar Alexander's way, and the lictors came to their
assistance.
A young man in festal array, who had pushed into the front rank of the
bystanders, had looked on with panting breath. He was very pale, and the
thick wreath he wore was scarcely sufficient to hide the bandage under
it. This was Diodoros, Melissa's lover. After resting awhile at his
friend's house he had been carried in a litter to the amphitheatre, for
he could yet hardly walk. His father being one of the senators of the
town, his family had a row of seats in the lowest and best tier; but
this, on this occasion, was entirely given up to Caesar and his court.
Consequently the different members of the senate could have only half
the usual number of seats. Still, the son of Polybius might in any case
claim two in his father's name; and his friend Timon--who had also
provided him with suitable clothing--had gone to procure the tickets from
the curia. They were to meet at the entrance leading to their places,
and it would be some little time yet before Timon could return.
Diodoros had thought he would behold his imperial rival; however, instead
of Caracalla he had seen the contemptuous reception which awaited
Alexander and Melissa, from some at least of the populace. Still, how
fair and desirable had she seemed in his eyes, whom, only that morning,
he had been blessed in calling his! As he now moved away from the main
entrance, he asked himself why it was such torture to him to witness the
humiliation of a being who had done him such a wrong, and whom he thought
he hated and scorned so utterly. Hardly an hour since he had declared to
Timon that he had rooted his love for Melissa out of his heart. He
himself would feel the better for using the whistle he wore, in derision
of her, and for seeing her faithlessness punished by the crowd. But now?
When the insolent uproar went up from the "Greens," whose color he
himself wore, he had found it difficult to refrain from rushing on the
cowardly crew and knocking some of them down.
He now made his way with feeble steps to the entrance where he was to
meet his friend. The blood throbbed in his temples, his mouth was
parched, and, as a fruit-seller cried her wares from one of the archways,
he took a few apples from her basket to refresh himself with their juice.
His hand trembled, and the experienced old woman, observing the bandage
under his wreath, supposed him to be one of the excited malcontents who
had perhaps already fallen into the hands of the lictors. So, with a
significant grin, she pointed under the table on which her fruit-baskets
stood, and said "I have plenty of rotten ones. Six in a wrapper, quite
easy to hide under your cloak. For whom you will. Caesar has given the
golden apple of Paris to a goddess of this town. I should best like to
see these flung at her brother, the sycophant."
"Do you know them?" asked Diodoros, hoarsely.
"No," replied the old woman. "No need for that. I have plenty of
customers and good ears. The slut broke her word with a handsome youth
of the town for the sake of the Roman, and they who do such things are
repaid by the avenging gods." Diodoros felt his knees failing under him,
and a wrathful answer was on his lips, when the huckster suddenly shouted
like mad: "Caesar, Caesar! He is coming."
The shouts of the crowd hailing their emperor had already become audible
through the heavy evening air, at first low and distant, and louder by
degrees. They now suddenly rose to a deafening uproar, and while the
sound rolled on like approaching thunder, broken by shrill whistles
suggesting lightning, the sturdy old apple-seller clambered unaided on to
her table, and shouted with all her might:
"Caesar! Here he is!--Hail, hail, hail to great Caesar!"
At the imminent risk of tumbling off her platform, she bent low down to
reach under the table for the blue cloth which covered her store of
rotten apples, snatched it off, and waved it with frantic enthusiasm, as
though her elderly heart had suddenly gone forth to the very man for whom
a moment ago she had been ready to sell her disgusting missiles. And
still she shouted in ringing tones, "Hail, hail, Caesar!" again and
again, with all her might, till there was no breath left in her
overbuxom, panting breast, and her round face was purple with the effort.
Nay, her emotion was so vehement that the bright tears streamed down her
fat cheeks.
And every one near was shrieking like the applewoman, "Hail, Caesar!" and
it was only where the crowd was densest that a sharp whistle now and then
rent the roar of acclamations.
Diodoros, meanwhile, had turned to look at the main entrance, and,
carried away by the universal desire to see, had perched himself on an
unopened case of dried figs. His tall figure now towered far above the
throng, and he set his teeth as he heard the old woman, almost speechless
with delight, gasp out:
"Lovely! wonderful! He would never have found the like in Rome. Here,
among us--"
But the cheers of the multitude now drowned every other sound. Fathers
or mothers who had children with them lifted them up as high as they
could; where a small man stood behind a tall one, way was willingly made,
for it would have been a shame to hinder his view of such a spectacle.
Many had already seen the great monarch in his shining, golden chariot,
drawn by four splendid horses; but such an array of torch-bearers as now
preceded Caracalla was a thing never seen within the memory of the oldest
or most traveled man. Three elephants marched before him and three came
behind, and all six carried in their trunks blazing torches, which they
held now low and now aloft to light his road. To think that beasts could
be trained to such a service! And that here, in Alexandria, such a
display could be made before the haughty and pampered Romans!
The chariot stood still, and the black Ethiopians who guided the huge
four-footed torch-bearers took the three leaders to join their fellows
behind the chariot. This really was a fine sight; this could not but
fill the heart of every one who loved his native town with pride and
delight. For what should a man ever shout himself hoarse, if not for
such a splendid and unique show? Diodoros himself could not take his
eyes off the elephants. At first he was delighted with them, but
presently the sight annoyed him even more than it had pleased him; for he
reflected that the tyrant, the villain, his deadly enemy, would certainly
take to himself the applause bestowed on the clever beasts. With this,
he grasped the reed pipe in the breast of his tunic. He had been on the
point of using it before now, to retaliate on Melissa for some portion of
the pain she had inflicted on him. At this thought, however, the
paltriness of such revenge struck him with horror, and with a hasty
impulse he snapped the pipe in two, and flung the pieces on the ground in
front of the apple-stall. The old woman observed it and exclaimed:
"Ay, ay, such a sight makes one forgive a great deal"; but he turned his
back on her in silence, and joined his friend at the appointed spot.
They made their way without difficulty to the seats reserved for the
senators' families, and when they had taken their places, the young man
replied but briefly to the sympathetic inquiries as to his health which
were addressed to him by his acquaintances. His friend Timon gazed
anxiously into his handsome but pale, sad face, as Diodoros sat crushed
and absorbed in thought. He would have liked to urge him to quit the
scene at once, for the seats just opposite were those destined to Caesar
and his court-among them, no doubt, Melissa. In the dim light which
still prevailed in the vast amphitheatre it was impossible to recognize
faces. But there would soon be a blaze of light, and what misery must
await the hapless victim of her faithlessness, still so far from perfect
health! After the glare of light outside, which was almost blinding, the
twilight within was for the moment a relief to Diodoros. His weary limbs
were resting, a pleasant smell came up from the perfumed fountains in the
arena, and his eyes, which could not here rest on anything to gratify
him, were fixed on vacancy.
And yet it was a comfort to him to think that he had broken his pipe.
It would have disgraced him to whistle it; and, moreover, the tone would
have reached the ear of the noble lady who had accompanied Melissa, and
whom he himself had, only yesterday, revered as a second mother.
Loud music now struck up, he heard shouts and cheers, and just above him
--for it could only proceed from the uppermost tiers--there was an
extraordinary tumult. Still he paid no heed, and as he thought of that
matron the question suddenly arose in his mind, whether she would have
consented to be seen with Melissa if she thought that the girl was indeed
capable of ruthless falsehood or any other unworthy act. He, who never
missed a show in the arena, had never seen the lady Euryale here. She
could hardly have come to-day for her own pleasure; she had come, then,
for Melissa's sake; and yet she knew that the girl was betrothed to him.
Unless Caesar had commanded the matron's presence, Melissa must still be
worthy of the esteem and affection of this best of women; and at this
reflection Hope once more raised her head in his tortured soul.
He now suddenly wished that brighter light might dispel the gloom which
just now he had found so restful; for the lady Euryale's demeanor
would show him whether Melissa were still a virtuous maiden. If the
matron were as friendly with her as ever, her heart was perhaps still
his; it was not the splendor of the purple that had led her astray, but
the coercion of the tyrant.
His silent reflections were here interrupted by the loud sounding of
trumpets, battle-cries, and, immediately after, the fall of some heavy
body, followed by repeated acclamations, noisy outcries, and the applause
of those about him. Not till then had he been aware that the
performances had begun. Below him, indeed, on the arena from which he
had not once raised his eyes, nothing was to be seen on the yellow sand
but the scented fountain and a shapeless body, by which a second and a
third were soon lying; but overhead something was astir, and, from the
right-hand side, bright rays flashed across the wide space. Above the
vast circle of seats, arranged on seven tiers, suns and huge, strangely
shaped stars were seen, which shed a subdued, many-tinted radiance; and
what the youth saw over his head was not the vault of heaven, which to-
night bent over his native city darkened by clouds, but a velarium of
immense size on which the nocturnal firmament was depicted. This covered
in the whole of the open space. Every constellation which rose over
Alexandria was plainly recognizable. Jupiter and Mars, Caesar's
favorites, outdid the other planets in size and brightness; and in the
center of this picture of the sky, which slowly revolved round it, stars
were set to form the letters of Caracalla's names, Bassianus and
Antoninus. But their light, too, was dim, and veiled as it were with
clouds. Soft music was heard from these artificial heavens, and in the
stratum of air immediately beneath, the blare of war-trumpets and battle-
cries were heard. Thus all eyes were directed upward, and Diodoros's
with the rest.
He perceived, with amazement, that the givers of the entertainment, in
their anxiety to set something absolutely new before their imperial
guest, had arranged that the first games should take place in the air. A
battle was being fought overhead, on a level with the highest places, in
a way that must surely be a surprise even to the pampered Romans. Black
and gold barks were jostling each other in mid-air, and their crews were
fighting with the energy of despair. The Egyptian myth of the gods of
the great lights who sail the celestial ocean in golden barks, and of the
sun-god who each morning conquers the demons of darkness, had suggested
the subject of this performance.