The great Hippodrome of Alexandria was outside the Canopic gate, on the
northern side of the road leading to Eleusis which to-day was crowded
with passengers, all moving in the same direction. The tumult roused by
the intelligence that Serapis was overthrown made all the more peaceful
and peace-loving of the spectators hurry homewards; and as these, for the
most part, were of the richer classes, who came and went in litters or
chariots, their conveyances left but scanty space on the wide causeway
for foot passengers, still, there they were, in considerable numbers,
all wending their way towards the city, and the heathen who came rushing
towards the Hippodrome behind the first heralds of the disaster, had
great difficulty in making their way against the stream.
Marcus and Dada allowed themselves to be carried onward by the throng
which was tending towards the city-walls and the Canopic gate. Phabis,
Mary's old steward, whose duty it had been to help his young master to
dress after the races were over, had snatched the agitator's cap from the
youth's head and flung a cloak over his shoulders, hastily following him
as he went off with the young girl by his side. The old man quite
understood what was in the wind for he it was who had conducted Dame
Herse to his mistress' presence. He had thought her a shrewd and kind-
hearted woman, and it now struck him that she must certainly have been
in the right when she accused Marcus of designs on her pretty niece.
At the time he had refused to believe it, for he had never in his life
detected his young master in any underhand or forbidden courses; but,
after all, Marcus was his father's son, and, in his younger days, the old
man had often and often had to risk his skin in Apelles' love-intrigues.
And now it was the Son's turn--and if he were to take his fancy for that
pretty chit as seriously as he did most things, if he got the notion into
his head of marrying the little singer--what a storm there was brewing
between him and his mother!
The old man did his best to keep up with Marcus who did not see or heed
him, for his eyes and attention were centered on the fair companion who
was clinging to his arm, while he tried to force a passage through the
mob, towards the gate. Miracle on miracle seemed to him to have been
wrought in his behalf; for Heaven had not only sent him Dada, but she was
wearing blue ribbands; and when he asked her why, she had replied "For
your sake, and because I like your Faith."
He was tired to death; but as soon as Dada had put her hand through his
arm he lead felt refreshed as if by magic. His swollen and blistered
hands, to be sure, were painful and his shoulders ached and winced from
stiffness; but as she pressed his arm to her side and looked up gladly in
his face--telling him how happy she was while he responded: "And how I
love you!"--he felt himself in Heaven, and pain and discomfort were
forgotten. The crush did not allow them to say more than a few words;
but the things their eyes and lips could smile were sweeter and dearer
than anything they had ever known before.
They had got through the gate and were in the Canopic way when Dada
suddenly perceived that his lips were white, and felt the arm tremble on
which her hand was lying. She asked him what ailed him; he made no
reply, but put his hand to his head, so she led him aside into the public
garden that lay to their right between the little Stadium and the
Maeandrian circus. In this pretty spot, fresh with verdure and spring
flowers, she soon found a bench shaded by a semicircular screen of dark-
tufted tamarisk, and there she made him lie down. He yielded at once,
and his pale face and fixed gaze showed her that he was in a fainting
state. Indeed, he must be quite worn out by the terrible struggle of the
race, and after it was over he had not given himself time to take a cup
of drink or a scrap of food for refreshment. It was only too natural
that his strength should fail him, so, without feeling at all alarmed but
only very pitiful and anxious to help, she ran back to a fruit-stall
which they had passed at the entrance to the garden from the street.
How glad she was that she still had the four drachmae which she had
coaxed out of Karnis in the Xenodochium that evening; she could buy
whatever she liked for her lover. When she went back-loaded with
oranges, apples, hard-boiled eggs, bread and salt, in the skirt of her
dress that she gathered up with one hand, and with a flask of wine and
water, and a gourdbowl in the other-she found him still lying
unconscious. However, when she had moistened his forehead and lips he
opened his eyes, and then she peeled him an orange as daintily as she
could and begged him to try it, and as she was herself very hungry she
took a hearty share. She was enchanted at making him her guest, and at
finding that he enjoyed the simple meal and soon was quite revived. In
fact, in a few minutes he had altogether recovered his strength and
consciousness of satisfaction; and as he lay back with Dada's hand in
his, gazing happily and thankfully into her sweet eyes, a sense of peace,
rest and bliss came over him such as he had never before known. He
thought he had never tasted such delicious food, or such exquisite wine
as the wretched Mareotic from the fruitstall. He took the apple she had
begun eating out of her hand and bit it where her white teeth had been;
he made her drink first out of the gourd-cup, and, as one of the three
eggs she had brought with her was bad, they had quite a little battle for
the last, till he finally gave way and eat it.
When they had finished Dada's purchases to the last mouthful she asked
him, for the first time, where he meant to take her, and be said he
intended placing her in the house of his former tutor, Eusebius, the
deacon, where she would be a welcome guest and find her old companion
Agne. Of this she was sincerely glad; and when, on hearing the title of
Deacon, she questioned Marcus further, and identified Eusebius as the
worthy old man whose discourse in the basilica had so deeply impressed
her, she told Marcus how she had gone into the church, and how, from that
hour, she had felt at peace. A quite new feeling had sprung up in her
soul, and since then she had constantly longed to see him again and talk
it all over with him:--The little she had learnt of Christian doctrine
did her heart good and had given her comfort and courage. The world was
so beautiful, and there were many more good men than bad. It was a
pleasure to love one's neighbor, and as for forgiving a wrong--that she
had never found difficult. It must be good to live on earth if everyone
loved his neighbor as she loved him and he loved her; and life could not
be a great hardship if in every trouble there was some one who was always
ready to hear our cry and help us, out of pure beneficence.
Her innocent talk was to Marcus the greatest marvel of this day of
miracles. The soul which he had dreamed that he was called to save had,
of its own accord, turned to walk in the path of salvation; he went on to
tell her of the things which he felt to be most sublime and glorious in
his creed, and at length he confessed that, though he had always loved
his neighbor for Christ's sake, never till now had true and perfect love
been revealed to him. No power on earth could now part him from her, and
when she should have been baptized there would be no further difficulty;
their love might last till, and beyond, death, through all the ages of
eternity. And she listened to him, perfectly content; and said that she
was his, wholly his, now, and for ever and ever.
There were to-day but few people in the garden which was usually full in
the afternoon, of idlers, and of children with their nurses; but the
disturbance in the streets had kept these at home, and the idlers had
found more to attract them at the Hippodrome and in the crowded roads.
This favored the lovers, who could sit hand in hand, looking into each
other's eyes; and when old Phabis, who had lost sight of them long since,
at length discovered them in the park, he could see from his lurking-
place as he crept closer, that his young master, after glancing
cautiously round, pressed a kiss on the little singer's hair,
and then on her eyes and at last on her lips.
The hours flew fast between serious talk and delightful dalliance, and
when they tore themselves away from their quiet retreat it was already
dusk. They soon found themselves in the Canopic way, in the thick of the
crowd which they were now occasionally obliged to meet, for those who
were making homewards had long since dispersed, and thousands were still
crowding to the Hippodrome where a brisk fight was still going on. As
they passed his mother's house Marcus paused and, pointing it out to
Dada, told her that the day was not far distant when he should bring her
home hither. But the girl's face fell.
"Oh no!" she exclaimed, in a low voice. "Not here-not to this great
palace in a street. Let us live in a little house, quite quietly, by
ourselves. A house with a garden, and a seat in the shade. Your mother
lives here!"
And then she blushed scarlet and looked down. He guessed, however, what
was passing in her mind, and bid her only to have patience, for as soon
as she was a baptized Christian Eusebius would intercede for her. And he
spoke warmly of his mother's piety and virtues, and asked Dada if she had
seen her at the races.
"Yes," she replied timidly; and when he went on to ask her if she had not
thought Mary very handsome and dignified, she answered frankly: "Yes--
very; but then she is so tall and grand-looking-she must wish for a
daughter-in-law very different from a poor, forsaken orphan like me--a
mere singer, looked down upon by every one! It is different with you;
you are satisfied with me as I am, and you know that I love you. If I
never find my uncle again I have no one on earth to care for me but you;
but I want no other, for you are my one and only hope, and to live for
you and with you is enough. Only you must never leave me or I shall die!
But you never can, for you told me that my soul was dearer to you than
your own life; and so long as I have you and your love I shall grow
better and better every day; but if you ever let me be parted from you
I shall be utterly lost. Yes, understand that once for all--ruined and
lost, body and soul!--I do not know what it is that terrifies me, but do
let us go on, away from this house. Suppose your mother were to see us!"
He did as she wished and tried to soothe her, praising his mother's
virtues with the affectionate blindness of a son; but she only half
listened to his eulogy, for, as they approached Rhacotis the throng grew
denser, they had no opportunities for conversation, they could think of
nothing but battling their way through the crowd; still, they were happy.
[The quarter of the city inhabited by the Egyptians. It was the old
town close to which Alexander the Great built his splendid new
city.]
They thus got to the street of the Sun--one of the main arteries of the
city cutting the Canopic way at right angles--and they went down it
towards the Gate of Helios in the south wall. The Serapeum lay to their
right, several streets leading to it from the street of the Sun. To
reach the house where Eusebius lived they ought to have turned down the
street of the Acropolis, but a compact mass of frenzied creatures came
storming down it from the Serapeum, and towards them. The sun was now
fast setting over the City of the Dead on the western horizon. Marcus
tried to get out of the middle of the road and place Dada in safety by
the house at the corner, but in vain; the rabble that came crowding out
of the side street was mad with excitement, and could think of nothing
but the trophies it had snatched from the temple. Several dozen men,
black and white alike--and among them some monks and even women, had
harnessed themselves to an enormous truck, commonly used for the carriage
of beams, columns, and heavy blocks of stone, on which they had erected a
huge but shapeless mass of wood, the core, and all that remained, of the
image of Serapis; this they were dragging through the streets.
"To the Hippodrome! Burn it! Down with the idols! Look at the divine
form of Serapis! Behold the god!"
These were the cries that rent the air from a thousand throats, an ear-
splitting accompaniment to the surging storm of humanity.
The monks had torn the desecrated block from the niche in the Serapeum,
hauled it through the courts on to the steps, and were now taking it to
the arena where it was to be burnt. Others of their kidney, and some of
the Christian citizens who had caught the destructive mania, had forced
their way into the temple of Anubis, hard by the Serapeumn, where they
had overthrown and wrecked the jackal-headed idols and the Canopic gods
--four huge jars with lids representing respectively a man's head, an
ape's, a hawk's and a jackal's. They were now bearing these heads in
triumph, while others were shouldering the limbs of broken statues of
Apollo, of Athene, or of Aphrodite, or carrying the fragments in baskets
to cast them into the flames in the Hippodrome after the wooden stock of
the great Serapis. The mob had broken off the noses of all the heads,
had smeared the marble with pitch, or painted it grossly with the red
paint they had found in the writing-rooms of the Sera peum. Every one
who could get near enough to the remains of the statue, or to a fragment
of a ruined idol, spit upon it, struck it or thrust at it; and not a
heathen had, as yet, dared to interfere.
Behind the oak block of the image of Serapis and the other trophies of
victory, came an endless stream of men of all ages, of monks and of
women, compelling a large carruca--[A four-wheeled chariot used in the
city and for travelling.]--that had fallen into their hands, and which
they had completely surrounded, to keep pace with them. The two fine
horses that drew it had to be led by the bridle; they were trembling with
terror and excitement and made repeated attempts to kick over the pole or
to rear.
In this vehicle was Porphyrius, who had fully recovered consciousness,
and by his side sat Gorgo. Constantine had not stirred from the side of
the convalescent till Apuleius had pronounced him out of all danger; but
then the young officer's duty had called him away. The merchant had
hailed the news of his daughter's, union with the companion of her
childhood as a most satisfactory and long-expected event.
A party of the Prefect's guards had been charged to bring the carriage
for Porphyrius to the door of the temple, and the abbot of a monastery at
Arsinoe, who was well known to the Prefect, undertook to escort them on
their road home and protect them from the attacks of the raving mob. At
the spot where the side street intersected the street of the Sun, and
where Marcus and Dada had been forced to stop, unable either to proceed
or to return, a troop of armed heathen had given the Christian rabble a
check at the very moment when the carruca came up, and falling on the foe
who had mocked and insulted their most sacred treasure, began a furious
fray. Quite close to the young lovers a heathen cut down a Christian who
was carrying the besmirched head of a Muse. Dada clung in terror to
Marcus, who was beginning to be seriously alarmed for her when, looking
round for aid or refuge, he caught sight of his brother forcing his way
through the throng, and gesticulating vehemently. The farmer was
telegraphing to the occupants of the carruca as well, and when he at last
reached Marcus he briefly explained to him that the first thing to be
done was to place Dada in safety.
Only too glad to be out of the crush and danger, the girl nimbly climbed
into the chariot, and, after hastily greeting the father and daughter,
signed to Marcus to follow her; but Demetrius held his brother back, and
it was hurriedly agreed that Dada should be sent for that evening to the
house of Porphyrius. Demetrius whispered a few words of enthusiastic
praise of the little singer into Gorgo's ear; then the carriage moved on
again. Many of the heathen who had collected round it recognized
Porphyrius, the noble friend of the great Olympius, and cleared a passage
for him, so that at last he got out of the gate uninjured, and turned
into the quieter street of Euergetes which led to the temple of Isis, the
ship-yard and the merchant's residence.
But few words were exchanged in the chariot, for it was only step by step
and with considerable difficulty that the horses could get along. It was
now quite dark and the mob had spread even into this usually deserted
quarter.
A flaring glow that tinged the temple, the wharf and the deep sky itself
with a gorgeous crimson glare, showed very plainly what the populace were
employed in doing. The monks had set fire to the temple of Isis and the
flames had been driven by the northwest wind down into the ship-yard,
where they had found ample food in the enormous timber stacks and the
skeletons of ships. Tall jets of rushing and crackling sparks were
thrown skywards to mingle with the paler stars. Porphyrius could see
what danger his house was in; but thanks to the old steward's foresight
and the indefatigable diligence of the slaves, it escaped the
conflagration.
The two brothers, meanwhile, had left the mob far behind them. Demetrius
was not alone, and as soon as he had introduced Marcus to his companion,
an abbot of friendly mien, the monk warmly expressed his pleasure at
meeting another son of Apelles, to whom he had once owed his life.
Demetrius then told his brother what his adventures had been during the
last few hours, and where he had met this worthy Father.
While taking Dada down into the arena to join Marcus, he had caught sight
of Anubis, the Egyptian slave who had been his father's companion in his
last memorable journey to Syria, and who, since the death of Apelles, had
totally disappeared, the countryman had instantly followed him, seized
him--not without a struggle and some little danger--and then had him led
off by the city-guard to the prison by the Prefect's house. Once secured
he had been induced to speak, and his narrative proved beyond a doubt
that Apelles had perished in a skirmish with the Saracens; the Egyptian
slave had only taken advantage of his master's death to make off with the
money he had with him. He had found his way to Crete, where he had
purchased a plot of ground with his plunder; but then, craving to see his
wife and children once more, he had come back to fetch them away to his
new home. Finally, to confirm the truth of his story, which--clearing
him apparently of the murder of his master--did not invite implicit
belief, he told Demetrius that he had seen in Alexandria, only the day
before, a recluse who had been present when Apelles fell, and Demetrius
had at once set out to find this monk, enquiring among those who had
swarmed into the city. He had very soon been successful; Kosnias, who
since then had been elected abbot of the monastery to which he belonged,
now again told Marcus the story of his father's heroic courage in the
struggle with the freebooters who had attacked his caravan. Apelles, he
said, had saved his life and that of two other anchorites, one of whom
was in Alexandria at this very time. They were travelling from Hebron to
Aila, a party of seven, and had placed themselves under the protection of
the Alexandrian merchant's escort; everything had gone well till the
infidel Saracens had fallen upon them in the high land south of Petra.
Four of the monks had been butchered out of hand; but Apelles, with a few
of the more resolute spirits in the company, had fought the heathen with
the valor of a lion. He, Kosmas, and his two surviving comrades had
effected their escape, while Apelles engaged the foe; but from a rocky
height which they climbed in their flight they saw him fall, and from
that hour they had always mentioned him in their prayers. It would be an
unspeakable satisfaction to him to do his utmost to procure for such a
man as Apelles the rank he deserved in the list of martyrs for the Faith.
Marcus, only too happy, wanted to hurry away at once to his mother and
tell her what he had heard, but Demetrius detained him. The Bishop-he
told his brother--had desired his immediate presence, to be congratulated
on his victory; his first duty was to obey that mandate, and he should at
once avail himself of its favorable opportunity to obtain for his
deceased parent the honor he had earned.
It rather startled Marcus to find his brother taking its interest in a
matter which, so lately, he had vehemently opposed; however, he proceeded
at once to the episcopal palace, accompanied by the abbot, and half an
hour later Demetrius, who had awaited his return, met him coming out with
sparkling eyes. The Prelate, he said, had received him very graciously,
had thanked him for his prowess and had bid him crave a reward. He at
once had spoken of his father, and called the recluse to witness to the
facts. The Bishop had listened his story, and had ended by declaring
himself quite willing to put the name of Apelles on the list of the
Syrian martyrs. Theophilus had been most unwilling hitherto to reject
the petitions of so good and illustrious Christian as Mary; and now,
after such ample testimony as to the manner of her husband's death, it
was with sincere satisfaction that he bestowed this high mark of honor on
the Christian victor and his admirable mother. "So now," added the young
man, "I shall fly home, and how happy my mother will be...."
But Demetrius would not allow him to finish his sentence. He laid his
hand on the young man's shoulder saying: "Patience, my dear fellow,
patience! You must stay with me for the present, and not go to your
mother till I have settled everything that is necessary. Do not
contradict me I entreat you, unless you want to deprive me of the
happiness of remedying an injustice to your pretty Dada. What you most
desire for yourself and her is your mother's blessing--and do you think
that will be easy to obtain? Far from it, lad! But I can manage it for
you; and I will, too, if only you will do as I bid you, and if the old
Heathen's niece can be induced to be baptized...."
"She is a Christian already!" exclaimed Marcus eagerly.
"Well then, she can be yours to-morrow," Demetrius went on calmly, "if
you listen to the advice of your older and wiser brother. It cannot be
very hard upon you, for you must own that if I had not fought it out with
Anubis--and the rascal bit all he could reach like a trapped fox--if I
had not got him locked up and almost run my legs off in hunting down the
worthy abbot, our father would never have enjoyed the promotion which he
is at last to obtain. Who would ever have believed that I should get any
satisfaction out of this 'Crown of Martyrdom'? By the gods! It is by no
means impossible, and I hope the manes of the deceased will forgive me
for your sake. But it is getting late, so only one thing more: for my
own share of the business all I claim is my right to tell your mother
myself of all that has occurred; you, on your part, must go at once to
Eusebius and beg him to receive Dada in his house. If he consents--and
he certainly will--take him with you to our uncle Porphyrius and wait
there till I come; then, if all goes well, I will take you and Dada to
your mother--or, if not, we will go with Eusebius."
"Dada to my mother!" cried Marcus. "But what will she ......"
"She will receive her as a daughter," interrupted his brother, "if you
hold your tongue about the whole business till I give you leave to
speak.--There, the tall gate-keeper is closing the episcopal palace,
so nothing more can come out of there to-night. You are a lucky fellow
--well good-bye till we meet again; I am in a hurry."
The farmer went off, leaving Marcus with a thousand questions still
unasked. However, the young man did his bidding and went, hopeful though
not altogether free from doubts, to find his old tutor and friend.