A Thorny Path, Volume 11.
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Georg Ebers >> A Thorny Path, Volume 11.
If it were only as a peacemaker, she was already a child of Him who had
asked this, and she might look for none but good gifts from Him. And
what was commanded immediately after seemed to her so simple, so easy to
obey, and yet so wise. She thought it over a little, and saw that in
this precept--of which it was said that it was all the law and the
prophets--there was in fact a rule which, if it were obeyed, must keep
all mankind guiltless, and make every one happy. These words, she
thought, should be written over every door and on every heart, as the
winged sun was placed over every Egyptian temple gate, so that no one
should ever forget them for an instant. She herself would bear them in
mind, and she repeated them to herself in an undertone, "Whatsoever ye
would that men should do unto you, even so do unto them." Her eye
wandered to the window and out to the stadium. How happy might the world
be under a sovereign who should obey that law! And Caracalla?--No, she
would not allow the contentment which filled her to be troubled by a
thought of him.
With a hasty gesture she placed the ivory rod which she had found in the
middle of the roll so as to flatten it out, and her eye fell on the
words, "Come unto me, all ye that are weary and heavy-laden, and I will
give you rest." To her, if to any one, was this glorious bidding
addressed, for few had a heavier burden to bear. But indeed she already
felt it lighter, after the terrors she had gone through on the very verge
of despair; and now, even though she was still surrounded by dangers, she
was far from feeling oppressed or terrified. Now her heart beat higher
with hopeful gladness, and she was full of fervent gratitude as she told
herself with lively and confident assurance that she had found a new
guide, and, holding His loving and powerful hand, could walk in the way
in safety. She felt as though some beloved hand had given her a vial of
precious medicine that would cure every disease, when she had learned
this verse, too, by heart. She would never forget the friendly promise
and invitation that lay in those words. And to Alexander, at least--
poor, conscience-stricken Alexander--they might bring some comfort,
if not to her father and Philip, since the call of the Son of God was
addressed to him too. And she looked as happy as though she had heard
something to rejoice her heart and soul. Her red lips parted once more,
showing the two white teeth which were never to be seen but when she
smiled and some real happiness stirred her soul.
She fancied she was alone, but, even while she was reading the words in
which the Saviour called to him the weary and heavy-laden, the lady
Euryale had noiselessly opened a secret door leading to Melissa's hiding-
place, known only to herself and her husband, and had come close to her.
She now stood watching the girl with surprise and astonishment, for she
had expected to find her beside herself, desperate, and more than ever
needing comfort and soothing. The unhappy girl must have been drawn to
the window by the cries of the massacred, and at least have glanced at
the revolting scene in the stadium. She would have thought it more
natural if she had found Melissa overcome by the horrors she had
witnessed, half distraught or paralyzed by distress and rage. And there
sat the young creature, whom she knew to be soft-hearted and gentle,
smiling and with beaming eyes--though those eyes must have rested on the
most hideous spectacle--looking as though the roll in her lap were the
first enchanting raptures of a lover. The book lying on Melissa's knees
was the gospel of Matthew, which she herself early this morning, while
the girl was still sleeping, had laid by her side to comfort her and give
her some insight into the blessings of Christianity. But these
scriptures, so sacred to Euryale, had seemed to count for less than
nothing to this heathen girl, the sister of Philip the skeptic.
Euryale loved Melissa, but far dearer to her was the book to whose all-
important contents the maiden seemed to have closed her heart in
coldness.
It was for Melissa's sake that, when the high-priest's dwelling was
searched by the new magistrate's spies from cellar to garret, she had
patiently submitted to her husband's hard words. She had liked to think
that she might bring this girl as a pure white lamb into the fold of the
Good Shepherd, who to herself was so dear, and through whom her saddened
life had found new charm, her broken heart new joys. A few hours since
she had assured her friend Origen that she had found a young Greek who
would prove to him that a heathen who had gone through the school of
suffering with a pure and compassionate heart needed but a sign, a word
of flame, to recognize at once the beatitude of Christianity and long to
be baptized. And here she discovered the maiden of whom she had such
fair hopes, with a smile on her lips and beaming looks, while so many
innocent men were being slaughtered, as though this were a joy to her!
What had become of the girl's soft, tender heart, which but yesterday had
been ready for self-sacrifice if only she might secure the well-being of
those she loved? Was she, Euryale, in her dotage, that she could be so
deceived by a child?
Her heart beat faster with disappointment; and yet she would not condemn
the sinner unheard. So, with a swift impulse she took the roll up from
Melissa's lap, and her voice was sorrowful rather than severe as she
exclaimed:
"I had hoped, my child, that these scriptures might prove to you, as to
so many before you, a key to open the gates of eternal truth. I thought
that they would comfort you, and teach you to love the sublime Being
whose exemplary life and pathetic death are no longer unknown to you,
since Johanna told you the tale. Nay, I believed that they might
presently arouse in you the desire to join us who--"
But here she stopped, for Melissa had fallen on her neck, and while
Euryale, much amazed, tried to release herself from her embrace, the girl
cried out, half laughing and half in tears:
"It has all come about as you expected! I will live and die faithful to
that sublime Saviour, whom I love. I am one of you--yes, mother, now--
even before the baptism I long for. For I was weary and heavy-laden
above any, and the word of the Lord hath refreshed me. This book has
taught me that there is but one path to true happiness, and it is that
which is shown us by Jesus Christ. O lady, how much fairer would our
life on earth be if what is written here concerning blessedness were
stamped on every heart! I feel as though in this hour I had been born
again. I do not know myself; and how is it possible that a poor child of
man, in such fearful straits and peril as I, and after such a scene of
horror, should feel so thankful and so full of the purest gladness?"
The matron clasped her closely in her arms, and her tears bedewed the
girl's face while she kissed her again and again; and the cheerfulness
which had just now hurt her so deeply she now regarded as a beautiful
miracle.
Her time was limited, for she was watched; and she had seized the half-
hour during which the townguard had been mustered in the square to report
progress. So Melissa had to be brief, and in a few hasty words she told
her friend all that she had seen and heard from her high window, and how
the gospel of Matthew had been to her glad tidings; how it had given her
comfort and filled her soul with infinite happiness in this the most
terrible hour of her life. At this, Euryale also forgot the horrors
which surrounded them, till Melissa called her back to the dreadful
present; for, with bowed head and in deep anxiety, she desired to know
whether her friend knew anything of her relations and Diodoros.
The matron had a painful struggle with herself. It grieved her to
inflict anxiety on Melissa's heart, as she stood before her eyes like one
of the maidens robed in white and going to be baptized, to whom presents
were given on the festive occasion, and who were carefully sheltered from
all that could disturb them and destroy the silent, holy joy of their
souls. And yet the question must be answered: so she said that of the
other two she knew nothing, any more than of Berenike and Diodoros,
but that of Philip she had bad news. He was a noble man, and,
notwithstanding his errors in the search after truth, well worthy of
pity. At this, Melissa in great alarm begged to be told what had
happened to her brother, and the lady Euryale confessed that he no longer
walked among the living, but she did not relate the manner of his death;
and she bade the weeping girl to seek for comfort from the Friend of all
who grieve and whom she now knew; but to keep herself prepared for the
worst, in full assurance that none are tried beyond what they are able to
bear, for that the fury of the bloodthirsty tyrant hung like a black
cloud over Alexandria and its inhabitants. She herself, merely by coming
to Melissa, exposed herself to great danger, and she could not see her
again till the morrow. To Melissa's inquiry as to whether it was her
refusal to be his which had brought such a fearful fate on the innocent
youth of Alexandria, Euryale could reply in the negative; for she had
heard from her husband that it was a foul epigram written by a pupil of
the Museum which had led to Caesar's outbreak of rage.
With a few soothing words she pointed to a basket of food which she had
brought with her, showed the girl once more the secret door, and embraced
her at parting as fondly as though Heaven had restored to her in Melissa
the daughter she had lost.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
Melissa was once more alone.
She now knew that Philip walked no longer among the living. He must have
fallen a victim to the fury of the monster, but the thought that he might
have been slain for her sake left her mind no peace.
She felt that with the death of this youth--so gifted, and so dear to
her--a corner-stone had been torn from the paternal house.
In the loving circle that surrounded her, death had made another gap
which yawned before her, dismal and void.
One storm more, and what was left standing would fall with the rest.
Her tears flowed fast, and the torturing thought that the emperor had
slain her brother as a punishment for his sister's flight pierced her to
the heart.
Now she belonged indeed to the afflicted and oppressed; and as yesterday,
in the trouble of her soul, she had called upon Jesus Christ, though she
scarcely knew of Him then, so now she lifted up her heart to Him who had
become her friend, praying to Him to remember His promise of comfort when
she came to Him weary and heavy-laden.
And while she tried to realize the nature of the Saviour who had laid
down His life for others, she remembered all she had dared for her father
and brothers, and what fate had been her's during the time since; and she
felt she might acknowledge to herself that even if Philip had met his
death because of Caracalla's anger toward her, at any rate she would
never have approached Caesar had she not wanted to save her father and
brothers. She had never glossed over any wrong-doing of her own; but her
open and truthful nature was just as little inclined to the torment of
self-reproach when she was not absolutely certain of having committed a
fault.
In this case she was not quite sure of herself; but she now remembered a
saying of Euryale and Andreas which she had not understood before. Jesus
Christ, it said, had taken upon Himself the sins of the world. If she
understood its meaning aright, the merciful Lord would surely forgive her
a sin which she had committed unwittingly and in no wise for her own
advantage. Her prayer grew more and more to be a discourse with her new-
found friend; and, as she finished, she felt absolutely sure that He at
least understood her and was not angry with her. This reassured her, but
her cheerfulness had fled, and she could read no more.
Deeply troubled, and more and more distressed as time went on by new
disturbing thoughts, she hurriedly paced from side to side of the long,
narrow chamber in the gathering darkness. The revolting images around
her began to affect her unbearably once more. Near her chamber, to the
west, lay the race-course with its horrible scenes; so she turned to the
eastern end that looked out upon the street of Hermes, where the sight
could scarcely be so terrible as from the windows at the opposite end.
But she was mistaken; for, looking down upon the pavement, she perceived
that this, too, swam with blood, and that the ground was covered with
corpses.
Seized with a sudden horror, she flew back into the middle of the long
room. There she remained standing, for the scene of slaughter in the
west was still more appalling than that from which she had just fled.
She could not help wondering who could here have fallen a victim to the
tyrant after he had swept all the youth of the city off the face of the
earth.
The evening sun cast long shafts of golden light across the race-course
and in at the western window, and Melissa knew how quickly the night fell
in Alexandria. If she wished to find out who they were who had been
sacrificed to the fury of the tyrant, it must be done at once, for the
immense building of the temple already cast long shadows. Determined to
force herself to look out, she walked quickly to the eastern window and
gazed below. But it was some moments before she had the fortitude to
distinguish one form from another; they melted before her reluctant eyes
into one repulsive mass.
At last she succeeded in looking more calmly and critically.
Not heaped on one another as on the racecourse, hundreds of Caracalla's
victims lay scattered separately over the open square as far as the
entrance to the street of Hermes. Here lay an old man with a thick
beard, probably a Syrian or a Jew; there, his dress betraying him, a
seaman; and farther on-no, she could not be mistaken--the youthful corpse
that lay so motionless just beneath the window was that of Myrtilos, a
friend of Philip, and, like him, a member of the Museum.
In a fresh fit of terror she was going to flee again into her dreadful
hiding-place, when she caught sight of a figure leaning against the basin
of the beautiful marble fountain just in front of the eastern side-door
of the Serapeum, and immediately below her. The figure moved, and could
therefore only be wounded, not dead; and round the head was bound a white
cloth, reminding her of her beloved, and thereby attracting her
attention. The youth moved again, turning his face upward, and with a
low cry she leaned farther forward and gazed and gazed, unmindful of the
danger of being seen and falling a victim to the tyrant's fury. The
wounded, living man-there, he had moved again--was no other than
Diodoros, her lover!
Till the last glimmer of light disappeared she stood at the window with
bated breath, and eyes fixed upon him. No faintest movement of his
escaped her, and at each one, trembling with awakening hope, she thanked
Heaven and prayed for his rescue. At length the growing darkness hid him
from her sight. With every instant the night deepened, and without
thinking, without stopping to reflect--driven on by one absorbing
thought--she felt her way back to her couch, beside which stood the lamp
and fire-stick, and lighted the wick; then, inspired with new courage at
the thought of rescuing her lover from death, she considered for a moment
what had best be done.
It was easy for her to get out. She had a little money with her; on her
peplos she wore a clasp that had once belonged to her mother, with two
gems in it from her father's hand, and on her rounded arm a golden
circlet. With these she could buy help. The only thing now was to
disguise herself.
On the great, smoke-blackened metal plate over which those mystics passed
who had to walk through fire, there lay plenty of charcoal, and yonder
hung robes of every description. The next moment she had thrown off her
own, in order to blacken her glistening white limbs and her face with
soot. Among the sewing materials which the lady Euryale had laid beside
the scrolls was a pair of scissors. These the girl seized, and with
quick, remorseless hand cut off the long, thick locks that were her
brother's and her lover's delight. Then she chose out a chiton, which,
reaching only to her knees, gave her the appearance of a boy. Her breath
came fast and her hands trembled, but she was already on her way to the
secret door through which she should flee from this place of horror, when
she came to a standstill, shaking her head gently. She had looked around
her, and the wild disorder she was leaving behind her in the little room
went against her womanly feelings. But though this feeling would not in
itself have kept her back, it warned her to steady her mind before
leaving the refuge her friend had accorded to her. Thoughtful, and
accustomed to have regard for others, she realized at once how dangerous
it might prove to Euryale if these unmistakable traces of her presence
there should be discovered by an enemy. The kindness of her motherly
friend should not bring misfortune upon her. With active presence of
mind she gathered up her garments from the floor, swept the long locks of
hair together, and threw them all, with the sewing and the basket that
had contained the food, into the stove on the hearth, and set them
alight. The scissors she took with her as a weapon in case of need.
Then, laying the books of the gospels beside the other manuscripts, and
casting a last look round to assure herself that every sign of her
presence had been destroyed, she addressed one more prayer to the tender
Comforter of the afflicted, who has promised to save those that are in
danger.
She then opened the secret door.
With a beating heart, and yet far more conscious of the desire to save
her lover while there was yet time than of the danger into which she was
rushing headlong, she flitted down the hidden staircase as lightly as a
child at play. So much time had been lost in clearing the room--and yet
she could not have left it so!
She had not forgotten where to press, so that the heavy stone which
closed the entrance should move aside; but as she sprang from the last
step her lamp had blown out, and blackest darkness concealed the surface
of the smooth granite wall which lay between her and the street.
What if, when she got outside, she should be seen by the lictors or
spies?
At this thought fear overcame her for the first time. As she felt about
the door her hands trembled and beads of perspiration stood upon her
brow. But she must go to her wounded lover! When any one was bleeding
to death every moment might bring the terrible "too late." It meant
Diodoros's death if she did not succeed in opening the granite slab.
She took her hands from the stone and forced herself, with the whole
strength of her will, to be calm.
Where had been the place by pressing which the granite might be moved?
It must have been high up on the right side. She carefully followed with
her fingers the groove in which the stone lay, and having recalled its
shape by her sense of touch, she began her search anew. Suddenly she
felt something beneath her finger-tips that was colder than the stone.
She had found the metal bolt! With a deep breath, and without stopping
to think of what might be before her, she pressed the spring; the slab
turned-one step-and she was in the street between the racecourse and the
Serapeum.
All was still around her. Not a sound was to be heard except from the
square to the north of the temple, where all who carried arms had
gathered together to enjoy the wine which flowed in streams as a mark of
the emperor's approbation, and from the inner circle of the race-course
voices were audible. Of the citizens not one dared show himself in the
streets, although the butchery had ceased at sundown. All who did not
carry the imperial arms had shut themselves up in their houses, and the
streets and squares were deserted since the soldiers had assembled in
front of the Serapeum.
No one noticed Melissa. The dangers that threatened her from afar
troubled her but little. She only knew that she must go on--go on as
fast as her feet would carry her, if she were to reach her loved one in
time.
Skirting the south side of the temple, in order to get to the fountain,
her chief thought was to keep in its shadow. The moon had not yet risen,
and they had forgotten to light either the pitch-pans or the torches
which usually burned in front of the south facade of the temple. They
had been too busy with other matters to-day, and now they needed all
hands in heaping the bodies together. The men whose voices sounded
across to her from the race-course had already begun the work. On--she
must hurry on!
But it was not so easy as last night. Her light sandals were wet
through, and there was ever a fresh impediment in her way. She knew what
it was that had wetted her foot--blood--noble, human blood--and every
obstacle against which she stumbled was a human body. But she would not
let herself dwell upon it, and hurried on as though they were but water
and stones, ever seeing before her the image of the wounded youth who
leaned against the basin.
Thus she reached the east side of the temple. Already she could hear the
splashing of the fountain, she saw the marble gleaming through the
darkness, and began seeking for the spot where she had seen her lover.
She suddenly stopped short; at the same time as herself, lights faint and
bright were coming along from the south, from the entrance of the street
that led to Rhakotis, and down to the water. She was in the middle of
the street, without a possibility of concealing herself except in one of
the niches of the Serapeum.
Should she abandon him? She must go on, and to seek protection in the
outer wall of the temple meant turning back. So she stood still and held
her breath as she watched the advancing lights. Now they stopped. She
heard the rattle of arms and men's voices. The lantern-bearers were
being detained by the watch. They were the first soldiers she had seen,
the others being engaged in drinking, or in the work on the race-course.
Would the soldiers find her, too? But, no! They moved on, the torch-
bearers in front, toward the street of Hermes.
Who were those people who went wandering about among the slain, turning
first to this side and then to that, as if searching for something?
They could not be robbing the dead, or the watch would have seized them.
Now they came quite close to her, and she trembled with fright, for one
of them was a soldier. The light of the lantern shone upon his armor.
He went before a man and two lads who were following a laden ass, and in
one of them Melissa recognized with beating heart a garden slave of
Polybius, who had often done her a service.
And now she took courage to look more closely at the man--and it was--
yes, even in the peasant's clothes he wore he could not deceive her quick
eyes--it was Andreas!
She felt that every breath that came from her young bosom must be a
prayer of thanksgiving; nor was it long before the freedman recognized
Melissa in the light-footed black boy who seemed to spring from the earth
in order to show them the way, and he, too, felt as if a miracle had been
wrought.
Like fair flowers that spring up round a scaffold over which the hungry
ravens croak and hover, so here, in the midst of death and horror, joy
and hope began to blossom in thankful hearts. Diodoros lived! No word-
only a fleeting pressure of the hand and a quick look passed between the
elderly man and the maiden--who looked like a boy scarcely passed his
school-days--to show what they felt as they knelt beside the wounded
youth and bound up the deep gash in his shoulder dealt by the sword that
had felled him.
A little while afterward, Andreas drew from the basket which the ass
carried, and from which he had already taken bandages and medicine, a
light litter of matting. He then lifted Melissa on to the back of the
beast of burden, and they all moved onward.
The sights that surrounded them as long as they were near the Serapeum
forced her to close her eyes, especially when the ass had to walk round
some obstruction, or when it and its guide waded through slimy pools.
She could not forget that they were red, nor whence they came; and this
ride brought her moments in which she thought to expire of shuddering
horror and sorrow and wrath.
Not till they reached a quiet lane in Rhakotis, where they could advance
without let or hindrance, did she open her eyes. But a strange, heavy
pain oppressed her that she had never felt before, and her head burned so
that she could scarcely see Andreas and the two slaves, who, strong in
the joy of knowing that their young lord was alive, carried Diodoros
steadily along in the litter. The soldier--it was the centurion
Martialis, who had been banished to the Pontus--still accompanied them,
but Melissa's aching head pained her so much that she did not think of
asking who he was or why he was with them.