Hermon, filled with longing, went down toward evening to the shore.
The sun was setting, and the riot of colours in the western horizon
seemed like a mockery of the torturing anxiety which had mastered his
soul.
He did not notice the boat that was approaching the land; many
travellers who intended to go through Arabia Petrea landed here, and
for several days--he knew why--there had been more stir in these quiet
waters.
Suddenly he was surprised by the ringing shout with which he had
formerly announced his approach to Myrtilus.
Unconsciously agitated by joy, as if the sunset glow before him had
suddenly been transformed into the dawn of a happy day, he answered by a
loud cry glad with hope. Although his dim eyes did not yet permit him to
distinguish who was standing erect in the boat, waving greetings to him,
he thought he knew whom this exquisite evening was bringing.
Soon his own name reached him. It was his “wise Bias” who shouted, and
soon, with a throbbing heart, he held out both hands to him.
The freedman had performed his commission in the best possible manner,
and was now no longer bound to silence by oath.
Ledscha had left him and Myrtilus to themselves and, as Bias thought
he had heard, had sailed with the Gaul Lutarius for Paraetonium, the
frontier city between the kingdom of Egypt and that of Cyrene.
Myrtilus felt stronger than he had done for a long time, and had sent
him back to the blind friend who would need him more than he did.
But worthy Bias also brought messages from Archias and Daphne. They were
well, and his uncle now had scarcely any cause to fear pursuers.
Before the landing of the boat, the shade had covered Hermon’s eyes;
but when, after the freedman’s first timid question about his sight, he
raised it again, at the same time reporting and showing what progress
he had already made toward recovery, the excess of joy overpowered
the freedman, and sometimes laughing, sometimes weeping, he kissed the
convalescent’s hands and simple robe. It was some time before he calmed
himself again, then laying his forefinger on the side of his nose, he
said: “Therein the immortals differ from human beings. We sculptors can
only create good work with good tools, but the immortals often use the
very poorest of all to accomplish the best things. You owe your sight to
the hate of this old witch and mother of pirates, so may she find peace
in the grave. She is dead. I heard it from a fellow-countryman whom I
met in Herocipolis. Her end came soon after our visit.”
Then Bias related what he knew of Hermon’s uncle, of Daphne, and
Myrtilus.
Two letters were to give him further particulars.
They came from the woman he loved and from his friend, and as soon as
Bias had lighted the lamp in the tent, at the same time telling his
master in advance many items of news they contained, he set about the
difficult task of reading.
He had certainly scarcely become a master of this art on board the
Hydra, yet his slow performance did all honour to the patience of his
teacher Myrtilus.
He began with Daphne’s letter, but by the desire of prudent Archias it
communicated few facts. But the protestations of love and expressions of
longing which filled it pierced the freedman’s soul so deeply that his
voice more than once failed while reading them.
Myrtilus’s letter, on the contrary, gave a minute description of his
mode of life, and informed his friend what he expected for him and
himself in the future. The contents of both relieved Hermon’s sorely
troubled heart, made life with those who were dearest to him possible,
and explained many things which the reports of the slave had not
rendered perfectly clear.
Archias had gone with Daphne to the island of Lesbos, his mother’s
native city. The ships which conveyed travellers to Pergamus, where
Myrtilus was living, touched at this port, and Bias, to whom Hermon had
confided the refuge of the father and daughter, had sought them there,
and found them in a beautiful villa.
After being released from his oath, Myrtilus had put himself into
communication with his uncle, and just before Bias’s departure the
merchant had come to Pergamus with his daughter. As he had the most
cordial reception from the Regent Philetaerus, he seemed inclined to
settle permanently there.
As for Myrtilus, he had cast anchor with Ledscha in the little Mysian
seaport town of Pitane, near the mouth of the Caicus River, on which,
farther inland, was the rapidly growing city of Pergamus.
She had found a hospitable welcome in the family of a seafarer who were
relatives, while the Gaul continued his voyage to obtain information
about his tribe in Syria. But he had already returned when Bias reached
Pitane with the two talents intended for him. Myrtilus had availed
himself of Ledscha’s permission long before and gone to Pergamus, where
he had lived and worked in secrecy until, after the freedman’s return
from Ledscha, who at once left Pitane with the Gaul, he was released
from his oath.
During the absence of Bias he had modelled a large relief, a triumphal
procession of Dionysus, and as the renown of his name had previously
reached Pergamus, the artists and the most distinguished men in the city
flocked to his studio to admire the work of the famous Alexandrian.
Soon Philetoerus, who had founded the Pergamenian kingdom seven years
before, and governed it with great wisdom, came to Myrtilus.
Like his nephew and heir Eumenes, he was a friend to art, and induced
the laurel-crowned Alexandrian to execute the relief, modelled in clay,
in marble for the Temple of Dionysus at Pergamus.
The heir to the throne of Philetaerus, who was now advancing in years,
was especially friendly to Myrtilus, and did everything in his power to
bind him to Pergamus.
He succeeded, for in the beautiful house, located in an extremely
healthful site, which Eumenes had assigned for a residence and studio to
the Alexandrian artist, whose work he most ardently admired, and whom he
regarded as the most welcome of guests, Myrtilus felt better physically
than he had for years. Besides, he thought that, for many reasons,
his friend would be less willing to settle in Alexandria, and that the
presence of his uncle and Daphne would attract him to Pergamus.
Moreover, Hermon surely knew that if he came to him as a blind man he
would find a brother; if he came restored to sight, he would also find a
brother, and likewise a fellow-artist with whom he could live and work.
Myrtilus had told the heir to the throne of Pergamus of his richly
gifted blind relative, and of the peculiarity of his art, and Eumenes
eagerly endeavoured to induce his beloved guest to persuade his friend
to remove to his capital, where there was no lack of distinguished
leeches.
If Hermon remained blind, he would honour him; if he recovered his
sight, he would give him large commissions.
How deeply these letters moved the heart of the recovering man! What
prospects they opened for his future life, for love, friendship, and,
not least, for his art!
If he could see--if he could only see again! This exclamation blended
with everything he thought, felt, and uttered. Even in sleep it haunted
him. To regain the clearness of vision he needed for his work, he would
willingly have submitted to the severest tortures.
In Alexandria alone lived the great leeches who could complete the work
which the salve of an ignorant old woman had begun. Thither he must
go, though it cost him liberty and life. The most famous surgeon of the
Museum at the capital had refused his aid under other circumstances.
Perhaps he would relent if Philippus, a friend of Erasistratus, smoothed
the way for him, and the old hero was now living very near. The ships,
whose number on the sea at his feet was constantly increasing, were
attracted hither by the presence of the Egyptian King and Queen on the
isthmus which connects Asia and Africa. The priest of Apollo at Clysma,
and other distinguished Greeks whom he met there, had told him the day
before yesterday, and on two former visits to the place, what was
going on in the world, and informed him how great an honour awaited the
eastern frontier in these days. The appearance of their Majesties in
person must not only mean the founding of a city, the reception of a
victorious naval commander, and the consecration of a restored temple,
but also have still deeper causes.
During the last few years severe physical suffering had brought the
unfortunate second king of the house of Ptolemy to this place to seek
the aid of the ancient Egyptian gods, and, besides the philosophy, busy
himself with the mystic teachings and magic arts of their priesthood.
Only a short period of life seemed allotted to the invalid ruler, and
the service of the time-honoured god of the dead, to whom he had erected
one of the most magnificent temples in the world at Alexandria, to which
Egyptians and Hellenes repaired with equal devotion, opened hopes for
the life after death which seemed to him worthy of examination.
For this reason also he desired to secure the favour of the Egyptian
priesthood.
For this purpose, for the execution of his wise and beneficent
arrangements, as well as for the gratification of his expensive tastes,
large sums of money were required; therefore he devoted himself with
especial zeal to enlarging the resources of his country, already so rich
by nature.
In all these things he had found an admirable assistant in his sister
Arsinoe. As the daughter of the father and mother to whom he himself
owed existence, he could claim for her unassailable legitimacy the same
recognition from the priesthood, and the same submission from the people
rendered to his own person, whom the religion of the country commanded
them to revere as the representative of the sun god.
As marriages between brothers and sisters had been customary from
ancient times, and were sanctioned by religion and myth, he had married
the second Arsinoe, his sister, immediately after the banishment of the
first Queen of this name.
After the union with her, he called himself Philadelphus--brotherly
love--and honoured his sister and wife with the same name.
True, this led the sarcastic Alexandrians to utter many a biting, more
or less witty jest, but he never had cause to regret his choice; in
spite of her forty years, and more than one bloody deed which before her
marriage to him she had committed as Queen of Thrace and as a widow, the
second Arsinoe was always a pattern of regally aristocratic, dignified
bearing and haughty womanly beauty.
Though the first Philadelphus could expect no descendants from her, he
had provided for securing them through her, for he had induced her to
adopt the first Arsinoe’s three children, who had been taken from their
exiled mother.
Arsinoe was now accompanying her royal husband Philadelphus to the
eastern frontier. There the latter expected to name the city to be newly
founded “Arsinoe” for her, and-to show his esteem for the priesthood--to
consecrate in person the new Temple of Tum in the city of Pithom, near
Heroopolis.
Lastly, the monarch had been endeavouring to form new connections
with the coast countries of eastern Africa, and open them to Egyptian
commerce.
Admiral Eumedes, the oldest son of Philippus and Thyone, had succeeded
in doing this most admirably, for the distinguished commander had not
only founded on the Ethiopian shore of the Red Sea a city which he named
for the King “Ptolemais,” but also won over the princes and tribes of
that region to Egypt.
He was now returning from Ethiopia with a wealth of treasures.
After the brilliant festivals the invalid King, with his new wife, was
to give himself up to complete rest for a month in the healthful air of
the desert region which surrounded Pithom, far from the tumult of the
capital and the exhausting duties of government.
The magnificent shows which were to be expected, and the presence of the
royal pair, had attracted thousands of spectators on foot or horseback,
and by water, and the morning after Bias’s return the sea near Clysma
was swarming with vessels of all kinds and sizes.
It was more than probable that Philippus, the father, and Thyone, the
mother of the famous returning Admiral Eumedes, would not fail to be
present at his reception on his native soil, and therefore Hermon wished
to seek out his dear old friends in Heroopolis, where the greeting was
to take place, and obtain their advice.
The boat on which the freedman had come was at the disposal of his
master and himself. Before Hermon entered it, he took leave, with an
agitated heart and open hand, of his Amalekite friends and, in spite
of the mist which still obscured everything he beheld, he perceived how
reluctantly the simple dwellers in the wilderness saw him depart.
When the master and servant entered the boat, in spite of the sturdy
sailors who manned it, it proved even more difficult than they had
feared to make any progress; for the whole narrow end of the arm of the
sea, which here extended between Egypt and Arabia Petrea, was covered
with war galleys and transports, boats and skiffs. The two most
magnificent state galleys from Heroopolis were coming here, bearing the
ambassadors who, in the King’s name, were to receive the fleet and its
commander. Other large and small, richly equipped, or unpretending ships
and boats were filled with curious spectators.
What a gay, animated scene! What brilliant, varied, strange, hitherto
unseen objects were gathered here: vessels of every form and size, sails
white, brown, and black, and on the state galleys and boats purple,
blue, and every colour, adorned with more or less costly embroidery!
What rising and falling of swiftly or slowly moving oars!
“From Alexandria!” cried Bias, pointing to a state galley which the King
was sending to the commander of the southern fleet.
“And there,” remarked Hermon, proud of his regained power of
distinguishing one thing from another, and letting his eyes rest on
one of the returning transports, on whose deck stood six huge African
elephants, whose trumpeting mingled with the roaring of the lions and
tigers on the huge freight vessels, and the exulting shouts of the men
and women in the ships and boats.
“After the King’s heart!” exclaimed Bias. “He probably never received at
one time before so large an accession to his collection of rare animals.
What is the transport with the huge lotus flower on the prow probably
bringing?”
“Oh, and the monkeys and parrots over yonder!” joyously exclaimed the
Amalekite boy who had been Hermon’s guide, and had accompanied him
into the boat. Then he suddenly lowered his voice and, fearing that his
delight might give pain to the less keen-sighted man whom he loved, he
asked, “You can see them, my lord, can’t you?”
“Certainly, my boy, though less plainly than you do,” replied Hermon,
stroking the lad’s dark hair.
Meanwhile the admiral’s ship had approached the shore.
Bias pointed to the poop, where the commander Eumedes was standing
directing the course of the fleet.
As if moulded in bronze, a man thoroughly equal to his office, he
seemed, in spite of the shouts, greetings, and acclamations thundering
around him, to close his eyes and ears to the vessels thronging about
his ship and devote himself body and soul to the fulfilment of his duty.
He had just embraced his father and mother, who had come here to meet
him.
“The King undoubtedly sent by his father the laurel wreath on his
helmet,” observed Bias, pointing to the admiral. “So many honours
while he is still so young! When you went to the wrestling school in
Alexandria, Eumedes was scarcely eight years older than you, and I
remember how he preferred you to the others. A sign, and he will notice
us and allow you to go on his ship, or, at any rate, send us a boat in
which we can enter the canal.”
“No, no,” replied Hermon. “My call would disturb him now.”
“Then let us make ourselves known to the Lady Thyone or her husband,”
the freedman continued. “They will certainly take us on their large
state galley, from which, though your eyes do not yet see as far as a
falcon’s, not a ship, not a man, not a movement will escape them.”
But Hermon added one more surprise to the many which he had already
given, for he kindly declined Bias’s well-meant counsel, and, resting
his hand on the Amalekite boy’s shoulder, said modestly: “I am no longer
the Hermon whom Eumedes preferred to the others. And the Lady Thyone
must not be reminded of anything sad in this festal hour for the
mother’s heart. I shall meet her to-morrow, or the day after, and yet I
had intended to let no one who is loyal to me look into my healing eyes
before Daphne.”
Then he felt the freedman’s hand secretly press his, and it comforted
him, after the sorrowful thoughts to which he had yielded, amid the
shouts of joy ringing around him. How quietly, with what calm dignity,
Eumedes received the well-merited homage, and how disgracefully the
false fame had bewildered his own senses!
Yet he had not passed through the purifying fire of misfortune in vain!
The past should not cloud the glad anticipation of brighter days!
Drawing a long breath, he straightened himself into a more erect
posture, and ordered the men to push the boat from the shore. Then he
pressed a farewell kiss on the Amalekite boy’s forehead, the lad sprang
ashore, and the journey northward began.
At first the sailors feared that the crowd would be too great, and the
boat would be refused admission to the canal; but the helmsman succeeded
in keeping close behind a vessel of medium size, and the Macedonian
guards of the channel put no obstacle in their countryman’s way, while
boats occupied by Egyptians and other barbarians were kept back.
In the Bitter Lakes, whose entire length was to be traversed, the ships
had more room, and after a long voyage through dazzling sunlight, and
along desolate shores, the boat anchored at nightfall at Heroopolis.
Hermon and Bias obtained shelter on one of the ships which the sovereign
had placed at the disposal of the Greeks who came to participate in the
festivals to be celebrated.
Before his master went to rest, the freedman--whom he had sent out to
look for a vessel bound to Pelusium and Alexandria the next day or the
following one--returned to the ship.
He had talked with the Lady Thyone, and told Hermon from her that she
would visit or send for him the next day, after the festival.
His own mother, the freedman protested, could not have rejoiced more
warmly over the commencement of his recovery, and she would have come
with him at once had not Philippus prevented his aged wife, who was
exhausted by the long journey.
The next morning the sun poured a wealth of radiant light upon the
desert, the green water of the harbour, and the gray and yellow walls of
the border fortress.
Three worlds held out their hands to one another on this water way
surrounded by the barren wilderness--Egypt, Hellas, and Semitic Asia.
To the first belonged the processions of priests, who, with images of
the gods, consecrated vessels, and caskets of relics, took their places
at the edge of the harbour. The tawny and black, half-naked soldiers
who, with high shields, lances, battle-axes and bows, gathered around
strangely shaped standards, joined them, amid the beating of drums and
blare of trumpets, as if for their protection. Behind them surged a vast
multitude of Egyptians and dark-skinned Africans.
On the other side of the canal the Asiatics were moving to and fro.
The best places for spectators had been assigned to the petty kings and
princes of tribes, Phoenician and Syrian merchants, and well-equipped,
richly armed warriors. Among them thronged owners of herds and seafarers
from the coast. Until the reception began, fresh parties of bearded sons
of the desert, in floating white bernouse, mounted on noble steeds, were
constantly joining the other Asiatics.
The centre was occupied by the Greeks. The appearance of every
individual showed that they were rulers of the land, and that they
deserved to be. How free and bold was their bearing! how brightly and
joyously sparkled the eyes of these men, whose wreaths of green leaves
and bright-hued flowers adorned locks anointed for the festivals! Strong
and slender, they were conspicuous in their stately grace among the
lean Egyptians, unbridled in their jests and jeers, and the excitable
Asiatics.
Now the blare of trumpets and the roll of drums shook the air like
echoing lightning and heavy peals of thunder; the Egyptian priests sang
a hymn of praise to the God King and Goddess Queen, and the aristocratic
priestesses of the deity tinkled the brass rings on the sistrum. Then a
chorus of Hellenic singers began a polyphonous hymn, and amid its full,
melodious notes, which rose above the enthusiastic shouts of “Hail!”
from the multitude, King Ptolemy and his sister-wife showed themselves
to the waiting throng. Seated on golden thrones borne on the broad
shoulders of gigantic black Ethiopians, and shaded by lofty canopies,
both were raised above the crowd, whom they saluted by gracious
gestures.
The athletic young bearers of the large round ostrich-feather fans which
protected them from the sunbeams were followed in ranks by the monarch’s
“relatives” and “friends,” the dignitaries, the dark and fair-haired
bands of the guards of Grecian youths and boys, as well as divisions of
the picked corps of the Hetairoi, Diadochi, and Epigoni, in beautiful
plain Macedonian armour.
They were followed in the most informal manner by scholars from the
Museum, many Hellenic artists, and wealthy gentlemen of Alexandria of
Greek and Jewish origin, whom the King had invited to the festival.
In his train they went on board the huge galley on which the reception
was to take place. Scarcely had the last one stepped on the deck when it
began.
Eumedes came from the admiral’s galley to the King’s. Ptolemy embraced
him like a friend, and Arsinoe added a wreath of fresh roses to the
laurel crown which the sovereign had sent the day before.
At the same time thundering plaudits echoed from the walls of the
fortifications and broke, sometimes rising, sometimes falling, against
the ships and masts in the calm water of the harbour.
The King had little time to lose. Even festal joy must move swiftly.
There were many and varied things to be seen and done; but in the course
of an hour--so ran the order--this portion of the festivities must be
over, and it was fully obeyed.
The hands and feet of the woolly-headed blacks who, amid loud
acclamations, carried on shore the cages in which lions, panthers, and
leopards shook the bars with savage fury, moved as if they were winged.
The slender, dark-brown Ethiopians who led giraffes, apes, gazelles, and
greyhounds past the royal pair rushed along as if they were under the
lash; and the sixty elephants which Eumedes and his men had caught in
the land of Chatyth moved at a rapid pace past the royal state galley.
At the sight of them the King joined in the cheers of thousands of
voices on the shore; these giant animals were to him auxiliaries
who could put to flight a whole corps of hostile cavalry, and
Arsinoe-Philadelphus, the Queen, sympathized with his pleasure.
She raised her voice with her royal husband, and it seemed to the
spectators on the shore as if they had a share in the narrative when she
listened to Eumedes’s first brief report.
Only specimens of the gold and ivory, spices and rare woods, juniper
trees and skins of animals which the ships brought home could be borne
past their Majesties, and the black and brown men who carried them moved
at a breathless rate.
The sun was still far from the meridian when the royal couple and their
train withdrew from the scene of the reception ceremonial, and drove, in
a magnificent chariot drawn by four horses, to the neighbouring city
of Pithoin, where new entertainments and a long period of rest awaited
them. Hermon had seen, as if through a veil of white mists, the objects
that aroused the enthusiasm of the throng, and so, he said to himself,
it had been during the whole course of his life. Only the surface of the
phenomena on which he fixed his eyes had been visible to him; he had
not learned to penetrate further into their nature, fathom them to their
depths, until he became blind.
If the gods fulfilled his hope, if he regained his vision entirely, and
even the last mists had vanished, he would hold firmly to the capacity
he had gained, and use it in life as well as in art.