A Thorny Path, Volume 11.
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Georg Ebers >> A Thorny Path, Volume 11.
And all these pictures were not stiff and formal like Egyptian decorative
art, but executed by Greek artists with such liveliness and truth that
they seemed about to speak; and Melissa could have fancied many times
that they were moving toward her from the ceiling or the walls.
If she remained here long, she thought she must go out of her mind; and
yet she was attracted, here by a huge furnace on whose metal floor large
masses of fuel seemed to be, and there by a pool of water with
crocodiles, frogs, tortoises, and shells, wrought in mosaic.
Besides these and other similar objects, her curiosity was aroused by
some large chests in which book-rolls, strange vessels, and an endless
variety of raiment of every shape and size were stored, from the simple
chiton of the common laborer to the star-embroidered talar of the adept.
Her protectress had told her that the mystics who desired to be admitted
to the highest grades here passed through fire and water, and had to go
through many ceremonies in various costumes. She had also informed her
that the uninitiated who desired to enter these rooms had to open three
doors, each of which, as it was closed, gave rise to a violent ringing;
so that she might not venture to get away from the room, into which,
however, she could bar herself. If the danger were pressing, there was a
door, known only to the initiated, which led to the steps and out of the
building. Her sleeping-place, happily, was not far from a window looking
to the west, so that she was able to refresh her brain after the
bewildering impressions which had crowded on her in the inner rooms.
The paved roadway dividing the Serapeum from the stadium was at first
fairly crowded; but the chariots, horsemen, and foot-passengers on whose
heads she looked down from her high window interested her as little as
the wide inclosure of the stadium, part of which lay within sight.
A race, no doubt, was to be held there this morning, for slaves were
raking the sand smooth, and hanging flowers about a dais, which was no
doubt intended for Caesar. Was it to be her fate to see the dreadful man
from the place where she was hiding from him? Her heart began to beat
faster, and at the same time questions crowded on her excited brain, each
bringing with it fresh anxiety for those she loved, of whom, till now,
she had been thinking with calm reassurance.
Whither had Alexander fled?
Had her father and Philip succeeded in concealing themselves in the
sculptor's work-room?
Could Diodoros have escaped in time to reach the harbor with Polybius and
Praxilla?
How had Argutis contrived that her letter should reach Caesar's hands
without too greatly imperiling himself?
She was quite unconscious of any guilt toward Caracalla. There had been,
indeed, a strong and strange attraction which had drawn her to him; even
now she was glad to have been of service to him, and to have helped him
to endure the sufferings laid upon him by a cruel fate. But she could
never be his. Her heart belonged to another, and this she had confessed
in a letter--perhaps, indeed, too late. If he had a heart really capable
of love, and had set it on her, he would no doubt think it hard that he
should have bestowed his affections on a girl who was already plighted to
another, even when she first appeared before him as a suppliant, though
deeply moved by pity; still, he had certainly no right to condemn her
conduct. And this was her firm conviction.
If her refusal roused his ire--if her father's prophecy and
Philostratus's fears must be verified, that his rage would involve many
others besides herself in ruin, then--But here her thought broke off with
a shudder.
Then she recalled the hour when she had been ready and willing to be his,
to sacrifice love and happiness only to soften his wild mood and protect
others from his unbridled rage. Yes, she might have been his wife by
this time, if he himself had not proved to her that she could never gain
such power over him as would control his sudden fits of fury, or obtain
mercy for any victim of his cruelty. The murder of Vindex and his nephew
had been the death-blow of this hope. She best knew how seriously she
had come to the determination to give up every selfish claim to future
happiness in order that she might avert from others the horrors which
threatened them; and now, when she knew the history of the Divine Lord of
the Christians, she told herself that she had acted at that moment in a
manner well-pleasing to that sublime Teacher. Still, her strong common
sense assured her that to sacrifice the dearest and fondest wish of her
heart in vain would not have been right and good, but foolish.
The evil deeds which Caracalla was now preparing to commit he would have
done even if she were at his side. Of what small worth would she have
seemed to him, and to herself!--When this tyranny should be overpast,
when he should be gone to some other part of his immense empire, if those
she loved were spared she could be happy--ah! so happy with the man to
whom she had given her heart--as happy as she would have been miserable
if she had become the victim to unceasing terrors as Caesar's wife.
Euryale was right, and Fate, to which she had appealed, had decided well
for her. That, the greatest conceivable sacrifice, would have been in
vain; for the sake of a ruthless tyrant's foul desire she would have been
guilty of the basest breach of faith, have poisoned her lover's heart and
soul, and have wrecked his whole future life as well as her own. Away,
then, with foolish doubts! Pythagoras was wise in warning her against
torturing her heart. The die was cast. She and Caracalla must go on
divergent roads, Her duty now was to fight for her own happiness against
any who threatened it, and, above all, against the tyrant who had
compelled her, innocent as she was, to hide like a criminal.
She was full of righteous wrath against the sanguinary persecutor, and
holding her head high she went back into her sleeping-room to finish
dressing. She moved more quickly than usual, for the bookrolls which
Euryale had laid by her bed while she was still asleep attracted her eye
with a suggestion of promise. Eager to know what their contents were,
she took them up, drew a stool to the window, and tried to read.
But many voices came up to her from outside, and when she looked down
into the road she saw troops of youths crowding into the stadium. What
fine fellows they were, as they marched on, talking and singing; and she
said to herself that Diodoros and Alexander were taller even than most of
these, and would have been handsome among the handsomest! She amused
herself for some time with watching them; but when the last man had
entered the stadium, and they had formed in companies, she again took up
the rolls.
One contained the gospel of Matthew and the other that of Luke.
The first, beginning with the genealogy, gave her a string of strange,
barbarous names which did not attract her; so she took up the roll of
Luke, and his simple narrative style at once charmed her. There were
difficulties in it, no doubt, and she skipped sundry unintelligible
passages, but the second chapter captivated her attention. It spoke of
the birth of the great Teacher whom the Christians worshiped as their
God. Angels had announced to the shepherds in the field that great joy
should come on the whole world, because the Saviour was born; and this
Saviour and Redeemer was no hero, no sage, but a child wrapped in
swaddling-clothes and lying in a manger.
At this she smiled, for she loved little children, and had long known no
greater pleasure than to play with them and help them. How many
delightful hours did she owe to the grandchildren of their neighbor
Skopas!
And this child, hailed at its birth by a choir of angels, had become a
God in whom many believed! and the words of the angels' chant were:
"Glory to God on high, and on earth peace, good-will toward men!"
How great and good it sounded! With eager excitement she fastened the
rolls together, and on her features was depicted impatient longing to put
an end to an intolerable state of things, as she exclaimed, though there
was no one but herself to hear: "Ay, peace, salvation, good-will! Not
this hatred, this thirst for revenge, this blood, this persecution, and,
as their hideous fruit, this terror, these horrible, cruel fears--"
Here she was interrupted by the clatter of arms and rapping of hammers
which came up from below. Caesar's Macedonian guard and other infantry
troops were silently coming up in companies and vanishing into the side-
doors which led to the upper tiers of the stadium. What could this mean?
Meanwhile carpenters were busy fastening up the chief entrance with
wooden beams. It looked like closing up sluice-gates to hinder the
invasion of a high tide. But the stadium was already full of
men. She had seen thousands of youths march in, and there they stood in
close ranks in the arena below her. Besides these, there were now an
immense number of soldiers. They must all get out again presently, and
what a crush there would be in the side exits if the vomitorium were
closed! She longed to call down, to warn the carpenters of the folly of
their act. Or was it that the youth of the town were to be pent into the
stadium to hear some new and more severe decree, while some of the more
refractory were secured?
It must be so. What a shame!
Then came a few vexilla of Numidian troopers at a slow pace. At their
head, on a particularly high horse, rode the legate, a very tall man. He
glanced up to the side where she was, and Melissa recognized the Egyptian
Zminis. At this her hand sought the place of her heart, for she felt as
though it had ceased to beat. What! This wretch, the deadly foe of her
father and brother, here, at the head of the Roman troops? Something
horrible, impossible, must be about to happen!
The sun was mirrored in the shining coat of his horse, and in the
lictor's axe he bore, carrying it like a commander's staff. He raised it
once, twice, and, high as she was above him, she could see how sharp the
contrast was between the yellow whites of his eyes and the swarthy color
of his face.
Now, for the third time, the bright steel of the axe flashed in the
sunshine, and immediately after trumpet-calls sounded and were repeated
at short intervals, which still, to her, seemed intolerably long. How
Melissa had presence of mind enough to count them she knew not, but she
did. At the seventh all was still, and soon after a short blast on the
tuba rang out from above, below, and from all sides of the stadium. Each
went like an arrow to the heart of the anxious, breathless girl. From
the moment when she had seen Zminis she had expected the worst, but the
cry of rage and despair from a thousand voices which now split her ear
told her how far the incredible reality outdid her most horrible
imaginings.
Breathless, and with a throbbing brain, she leaned out as far as she
could, and neither felt the burning sun-which was now beginning to fall
on the western face of the temple--nor heeded the risk of being seen and
involving herself and her protectress in ruin. Trembling like a gazelle
in a frosty winter's night, she would gladly have withdrawn from the
window, but she felt as if some spell held her there. She longed to shut
her ears and eyes, but she could not help looking on. Her every instinct
prompted her to shriek for help, but she could not utter a sound.
There she stood, seeing and hearing, and her low moaning changed to that
laughter which anguish borrows from gladness when it has exhausted all
forms of expression. At last she sank on her knees on the floor, and
while she shed tears of pain still laughed shrilly, till she understood
with sudden horror what was happening. She started violently; a sob
convulsed her bosom; she wept and wept, and these tears did her good.
When, at one in the afternoon, the sun fell full on her window, she had
not yet found strength to move. A flood of bright light, in which
whirled millions of motes, danced before her eyes; and as her breath sent
the atoms flying, it passed through her mind that at this very moment the
reprobate utterance of a madman's lips was blowing happiness, joy, peace,
and hope out of the lives of many thousands--blowing them into
nothingness, like the blast of a storm.
Then she commanded herself, for the horrible scene before her threatened
to stamp itself on her eye like the image her father could engrave on an
onyx; and she must avoid that, or give up all hope of ever being light-
hearted again. Hardly an hour since she had seen the arena looking like
a basket of fresh flowers, full of splendid, youthful men. Then the
warriors of the Macedonian phalanx had taken their places on the long
ranks of seats on which she looked down, with several cohorts of archers,
brown Numidians and black Ethiopians, like inquisitive spectators of the
expected show--but all in full armor. At first the youths and men had
formed in companies, with singing, talk, and laughter, and here and there
a satirical chant; but presently there had been squabbles with the town-
watch, and while the younger and more careless still were gay enough,
whole companies on the other hand had looked up indignantly at the
Romans; some had anxiously questioned each other's eyes, or stared down
in sullen dismay at the sand.
The hot, seething blood of these men--the sons of a free city, and
accustomed to a life of rapid action in hard work and frenzied enjoyment
--took the delay very much amiss; and when it was rumored that the doors
were being locked, impatience and distrust found emphatic utterance.
Timid whistling and other expressions of disapproval had been followed by
louder demonstrations, for to be locked up was intolerable. But the
lictors and guards took no notice, after removing the member of the
Museum who had perpetrated the epigram on Caesar's mother. This one, who
had certainly gone too far, was to pay for all, it would seem.
Then the trumpets sounded, and the most heedless of the troop of youths
began to feel acute anxiety and alarm. From her high post of observation
Melissa could see that, although the appearance of Zminis on the scene
had caused a fever of agitation, they now broke their serried squares,
wandered about as if undecided what to do, but prepared for the worst,
and turned their curly heads now to this side and now to that, till the
trumpetblast from the seats attracted every eye upward, and the butchery
began.
Did the cry, "Stop, wretches!" really break from Melissa's lips, or had
she only intended to shout it down to the people in the stadium? She did
not know; but as she recollected the long rank of Numidians who, quick as
lightning, lifted their curved bows and sent a shower of arrows down on
the defenseless lads in the arena, she felt as though she had again
shrieked out: "Stop!" Then it seemed as though a storm of wind had torn
thousands of straight boughs with metallic leaves that flashed in the
sunshine from some huge invisible tree, and flung them into the arena;
and, as her eve followed their fall, she could have fancied that she
looked on a corn-field beaten down by a terrific hail-storm; but the
boughs and leaves were lances and arrows, and each ear of corn cut down
was a young and promising human being.
Zminis's preposterous suggestion had been acted on. Caracalla was
avenged on the youth of Alexandria.
Not a tongue could wag now in abuse; every pair of young lips which had
dared utter a scornful cry or purse up to whistle at the sight of Caesar,
was silenced forever-and, with the few guilty, a hundred times more who
were innocent. She knew now why the great gate had been barred with
beams, and why the troop had entered by the side-doors. The scene of the
brilliant display had become a lake of blood, full of the dead and dying.
Death had invaded the rows of seats; instead of laurel wreaths and
prizes, deadly weapons were showered down into the arena. It seemed now
as though the sun, with its blinding radiance, were mercifully fain to
hinder the human eye from looking down on the horrible picture. To avoid
the sickening sight. Melissa closed her eyes and dragged herself to her
feet with an effort, to hide herself she knew not where.
But again there was a flourish of trumpets and loud acclamations, and
again an irresistible power dragged her to the window.
A splendid quadriga had stopped at the gate of the stadium, surrounded by
courtiers and guards. It was Caracalla's, for Pandion held the reins.
Could Caracalla approve of this most horrible crime, organized by the
wretch Zminis, by appearing on the scene; or might it not be that, in his
wrath at the bloodthirsty zeal of his vile tool, he had come to dismiss
him?
She hoped it was this; and, at any cost, she must know the truth as to
this question, which was not based on mere curiosity. Holding one hand
to her wildly beating heart, she looked across the bloodstained arena to
the rows of seats and the dais decorated for Caesar. There stood
Caracalla, with the Egyptian at his side, pointing down at the arena with
his finger. And what was to be seen on the spot he indicated was so
horrible that she again shut her eyes, and this time she even covered
them with her hands. But she would and must see, and once more she
looked across; and the man whose assurances she had once believed, that
it was only his care for the throne and state and the compulsion of cruel
fate which had ever made him shed blood--that man was standing side by
side with the vile, ruthless spy whose tall figure towered far above his
master's. His hand lay on the villain's arm, his eye rested on the
corpse-strewn arena beneath; and now he raised his head, he turned his
face, whose look of suffering had once moved her soul, toward her--and he
laughed--she could see every feature--laughed so loud, so heartily, so
gleefully, as she had never before seen him laugh. He laughed till his
whole body and shoulders shook. Now he took his hand from the Egyptian's
arm and pointed to the dead lying at his feet.
As she saw that laugh, of which she could not hear a sound, Melissa felt
as though a hyena had yelled in her ear, and, yielding to an irresistible
impulse, she looked down once more at the destruction of youthful life
and happiness which had been wrought in one short hour--at the stream of
blood after which so many bitter tears must flow. The sight indeed cut
her to the heart, and yet she was thankful for it; for the first time the
reckless cruelty of that laughing monster was evident in all its naked
atrocity. Horror, aversion, loathing for that man to whom everything but
power, cruelty, and cunning, was as nothing, left no room for fear or
pity, or even the least shade of self-reproach for having aroused in him
a desire which she could not gratify.
She clenched her little fists, and, without vouchsafing another glance at
the detestable butcher who had dared to cast his eyes on her, she
withdrew from the window and cried out aloud, though startled at the
sound of her own voice: "The time, the time! It is fulfilled for him
this day!"
And how her eyes flashed and her bosom heaved and fell! With what a firm
step did she pace the long suite of rooms, while the conviction was borne
in on her that this deed of the vile assassin in the purple must bring
the day of salvation and peace nearer--that day of which Andreas dreamed!
As in her silent walk she passed the book-rolls which the lady Euryale
had so quietly laid by her bedside, she took up the glad message of Luke
with enthusiastic excitement, held it on high, and shouted the angels'
greeting which had impressed itself on her memory out of the window, as
though she longed that Caracalla should hear it--"Peace on earth and
good-will toward men!"
Then she resumed her walk through the rooms of the heathen mystics,
repeating to herself all the comfortable words she had ever heard from
Euryale and the freedman Andreas. The image of the divine Lord, who had
come to bestow love on the world, and seal his sublime doctrine by
sacrificing his life, rose up before her soul, and all that the Christian
Johanna had told her of him made the picture clear, till he stood plainly
before her, beautiful and gentle, in a halo of love and kindness, and yet
strong and noble, for the crucified One was a heroic Saviour.
At this she remembered with satisfaction the struggle she herself had
fought, and her comfort when she had decided to sacrifice her own
happiness to save others from sorrow. She now resolutely grasped the
lady Euryale's book-rolls, for they contained the key to the inner
chambers of the wondrous structure into whose forecourt life itself and
her own intimate experience had led her. She was soon sitting with her
back to the window, and unrolled the gospel of Matthew till she came to
the first sentence which Euryale had marked for her with a red line.
Melissa was too restless to read straight on; as impatient as a child who
finds itself for the first time in a garden which its parents have
bought, she rushed from one tempting passage to another, applying each to
herself, to those whom she loved, or in another sense to the disturber of
her peace.
With a joyful heart she now believed the promise which at first had
staggered her, that the Kingdom of Heaven was at hand.
But her eye ran swiftly over the open roll, and was attracted by a mark
drawing her attention to a whole chapter. She there read how Jesus
Christ had gone up on to a mountain to address the vast multitude who
followed him. He spoke of the kingdom of heaven, and of who those were
that should be suffered to enter there. First, they were the poor in
spirit--and she no doubt was one of those. Among those who were rich in
spirit her brother Philip was certainly one of the richest, and whither
had an acute understanding and restless brain led him that they so seldom
gave his feelings time to make themselves heard?
Then the mourners were to be comforted. Oh, that she could have called
the lady Berenike to her side and bid her participate in this promise!
And the meek--well, they might come to power perhaps after the downfall
of the wretch who had flooded the world with blood, and who, of all men
on earth, was the farthest removed from the spirit which gazed at her
from this scripture, so mild and genial. Of those who hungered and
thirsted after righteousness she again was one: they should be filled,
and the lady Euryale and Andreas had already loaded the board for her.
The merciful, she read, should obtain mercy; and she, if any one, had a
right to regard herself as a peacemaker: thus to her was the promise that
she should be called one of the children of God.
But at the next verse she drew herself up, and her face was radiant with
joy, for it seemed to have been written expressly for her; nay, to find
it here struck her as a marvel of good fortune, for there stood the
words: "Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness' sake:
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are ye when men shall
revile you, and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil against
you."
All these things had come upon her in these last days-though not, indeed,
for the sake of Jesus Christ and righteousness, but only for the sake of
those she loved; yet she would have been ready to endure the worst.
And the hapless victims in the arena! Might not the promised bliss await
them too? Oh, how gladly would she have bestowed on them the fairest
reward! And if this should indeed be their lot after death, where was
the revenge of their bloodthirsty murderer?
Oh, that her mother were still alive--that she, Melissa, had been
permitted to share this great consolation with her! In a brief
aspiration she uplifted her soul to the beloved dead, and as she further
unrolled the manuscript her eye fell on the words: "Love your enemies;
bless them that curse you, and do good to them that hate you." No, she
could not do this; this seemed to her to be too much to ask; even Andreas
had not attained to this; and yet it must be good and lovely, if only
because it helped to cement the peace for which she longed more fervently
than for any other blessing.
Next she read: "For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged," and
she shuddered as she thought of the future fate of the man who had by
treachery brought murder and death on an industrious and flourishing city
as a punishment for the light words and jests of a few mockers, and the
disappointment he had suffered from an insignificant girl.
But then, again, she breathed more freely, for she read: "Ask, and it
shall be given unto you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be
opened." Could there be a more precious promise? And to her, she felt,
it was already fulfilled; for her trembling finger had, as it were, but
just touched the door, and, to! it stood open before her, and that which
she had so long sought she had now found. But it was quite natural that
it should be so, for the God of the Christians loved those who turned to
him as His own children. Here it was written why those who asked should
receive, and those who sought should find: "For what man is there of you
whom if his son ask bread, will he give him a stone?"