A Thorny Path, Volume 2.

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A THORNY PATH

By Georg Ebers

Volume 2.

CHAPTER V.

The crowds on the road were now homeward bound, and they were all in such
wild, high spirits that, from what was to be seen and heard, it could
never have been supposed that they had come from so mournful a scene.
They took the road by the sea leading from the Nekropolis to Eleusis,
wandering on in the glowing moonlight.

A great procession of Greeks had been to Eleusis, to celebrate the
mysteries after the manner of the Greek Eleusis, on which that of
Alexandria was modeled. The newly initiated, and the elder adepts, whose
duty it was to superintend their reception, had remained in the temple;
but the other mystics now swelled the train of those who were coming from
the city of the dead.

Here, indeed, Serapis took the place of Pluto, and much that was Greek
had assumed strange and Egyptian forms: even the order of the ceremonies
had been entirely changed; still, on the African, as on the Attic shore,
the Greek cry went up, "To the sea, O mystics!" and the bidding to
Iakchos: "Be with us, O Iakchos!"

It could be heard from afar, but the voices of the shouters were already
weary, and most of the torches had burned low. The wreaths of ivy and
myrtle in their hair were limp; the singers of the hymn no longer kept
their ranks; and even Iambe, whose jests had cheered the mourning
Demeter, and whose lips at Eleusis had overflowed with witticisms, was
exhausted and silent. She still held in her hand the jar from which she
had given the bereaved goddess a reviving draught, but it was empty and
she longed for a drink. She was indeed a he: for it was a youth in
woman's dress who played the rollicking part of Iambe, and it was
Alexander's friend and comrade Diodoros who had represented the daughter
of Pan and Echo, who, the legend said, had acted as slave in the house of
Metaneira, the Eleusinian queen, when Demeter took refuge there. His
sturdy legs had good reason to be as weary as his tongue, which had known
no rest for five hours.

But he caught sight of the large vehicle drawn by four horses, in which
the vast corn-measure, the kalathos, which Serapis wore as his
distinguishing head-gear, had been conveyed to Eleusis. It was empty
now, for the contents had been offered to the god, and the four black
horses had an easy task with the great wagon. No one had as yet thought
of using it as a conveyance back to the town; but Diodoros, who was both
ingenious and tired, ran after it and leaped up. Several now wanted to
follow his example, but he pushed them off, even thrusting at them with a
newly lighted torch, for he could not be quiet in spite of his fatigue.
In the midst of the skirmishing he perceived his friend and Melissa.

His heart had been given to the gentle girl ever since they had been
playmates in his father's garden, and when he saw her, walking along
downcast, while her brother sported with his neighbor's daughters, he
beckoned to her, and, as she refused to accompany him in the wagon, he
nimbly sprang off, lifted her up in his arms, made strong by exercise in
the Palaestra, and gently deposited her, in spite of her struggles, on
the flat floor of the car, by the side of the empty kalathos.

"The rape of Persephone!" he cried. "The second performance in one.
night!"

Then the old reckless spirit seized Alexander too.

With as much gay audacity--as though he were free of every care and
grief, and had signed a compact with Fortune, he picked up pretty Ino,
lifted her into the wagon, as Diodoros had done with his sister, and
exclaiming, "The third performance!" seated himself by her side.

His bold example found immediate imitators. "A fourth!" "A fifth!"
cried one and another, shouting and laughing, with loud calls on Iakchos.

The horses found it hard work, for all along the edge of the car, and
round the kalathos of the great Serapis, sat the merry young couples in
close array. Alexander and Melissa soon were wreathed with myrtle and
ivy. In the vehicle and among the crowd there were none but radiant and
frolicsome faces, and no sound but triumphant revelry.

Fatigue was forgotten; it might have been supposed that the sinister
sisters, Care and Sorrow, had been banished from earth.

There was a smile even on Melissa's sweet, calm face. At first her old
friend's audacious jest had offended her maidenly coyness; but if
Diodoros had always loved her, so had she always loved him; and as other
well-conducted girls had been content to have the like done to them, and
her companion so confidently and roguishly sued for pardon, she gave him
a smile which filled his heart with rapture, and said more than words.

It was a comfort, too, to sit still and rest.

She spoke but little, but even she forgot what troubled her when she felt
her friend's hand on hers, and he whispered to her that this was the most
delightful night he had ever known, and that, of all the sweets the gods
had created, she was to him the sweetest?

The blue sea spread before them, the full moon mirrored on its scarcely
heaving surface like a tremulous column of pure and shining silver. The
murmur of the ripples came up from the strand as soothing and inviting as
the song of the Nereids; and if a white crest of foam rose on a wave, she
could fancy it was the arm of Thetis or Galatea. There, where the blue
was deepest, the sea-god Glaukos must dwell, and his heart be gladdened
by the merry doings on shore.

Nature is so great; and as the thought came to her that her heart was not
too small to take its greatness in, even to the farthest horizon, it
filled her with glad surprise.

And Nature was bountiful too. Melissa could see the happy and gracious
face of a divinity in everything she looked upon. The immortals who had
afflicted her, and whom she had often bitterly accused, could be kind and
merciful too. The sea, on whose shining surface the blue vault of heaven
with the moon and stars rocked and twinkled, the soft breeze which fanned
her brow, the new delicious longing which filled her heart-all she felt
and was conscious of, was a divinity or an emanation of the divine.
Mighty Poseidon and majestic Zeus, gentle Selene, and the sportive
children of the god of winds, seemed to be strangely near her as she rode
along. And it was the omnipotent son of Kypris, no doubt, who stirred
her heart to beat higher than it had ever done before.

Her visit to her mother's grave, too, her prayer and her offerings there,
had perhaps moved the spirit of the beloved dead to hover near her now as
a guardian genius.

Still, now and again the memory of something terrible passed over her
soul like a sweeping shadow; but what it was which threatened her and
those dear to her she did not see, and would not now inquire. What the
morrow might bring should not cloud the enchantment of this hour. For
oh, how fair the world was, and how blessed might mortals be!

"Iakchos! Iakchos!" the voices about her shouted, and it sounded as
gleeful as though the breasts of the revelers were overflowing with
gladness; and as the scented curls of Diodoros bent over her head, as his
hand closed on hers, and his whispered words of love were in her ear, she
murmured: "Alexander is right; the world is a banqueting-hall, and life
is fair."

"So fair!" echoed the youth, pensively. Then he shouted aloud to his
companions: "The world is a banqueting-hall! Bring roses, bring wine,
that we may sacrifice to Eros, and pour libations to Dionysus. Light the
flaming torches! Iakchos! come, Iakchos, and sanctify our glad
festival!"

"Come, Iakchos, come!" cried one and another, and soon the enthusiastic
youth's cry was taken up on all sides. But wine-skin and jar were long
since emptied.

Hard by, below the cliff, and close to the sea, was a tavern, at the sign
of the Cock. Here cool drink was to be had; here the horses might rest-
for the drivers had been grumbling bitterly at the heavy load added to
the car over the deep sand--and here there was a level plot, under the
shade of a spreading sycamore, which had often before now served as a
floor for the choric dance.

The vehicle soon drew up in front of the whitewashed inn, surrounded on
three sides by a trellised arbor, overgrown with figs and vine. The
young couples sprang to the ground; and, while the host and his slave
dragged up a huge wine-jar with two ears, full of the red juice of the
grape, fresh torches were lighted and stuck on poles or fastened to the
branches of the sycamore, the youths took their places eager for the
dance, and suddenly the festal song went up from their clear throats
unbidden, and as though inspired by some mysterious power:

Iakchos, come! oh, come, Iakchos!
Hither come, to the scene of our revel,
The gladsome band of the faithful.
Shake the fragrant, berried garland,
Myrtle-twined, that crowns thy love-locks,
Shedding its odors!
Tread the measure, with fearless stamp,
Of this our reckless, rapturous dance,
In holy rejoicing!
Hand in hand, thrice beatified,
Lo we thread the rhythmic, fanciful,
Mystical mazes!

And the dance begins. Youths and maidens advance to meet each other with
graceful movements. Every step must be a thing of beauty, every bend and
rising, while the double flutes play faster and faster, and the measured
rhythm becomes a wild whirl. They all know the dance, and the music is a
guide to the feeling to be expressed; the dancing must be suited to it.
Every gesture is a stroke of color which may beautify or mar the picture.
Body and spirit are in perfect harmony, combining to represent the
feelings that stir the soul. It is a work of art, the art of the arms
and feet. Even when passion is at the highest the guiding law is
observed. Nay, when the dancers fly wildly apart, they, not merely come
together again with unerring certainty, but form in new combination
another delightful and perfectly harmonious picture.

"Seek and find" this dance might be called, for the first idea is to
represent the wandering of Demeter in search of her daughter Persephone,
whom Pluto has carried off to the nether world, till she finds her and
clasps her in her motherly arms once more. Thus does the earth bewail
the reaped fruit of the field, which is buried in the ground in the
winter sowing, to rise again in the spring; thus does a faithful heart
pine during absence till it is reunited to the beloved one; thus do we
mourn our dead till our soul is assured of their resurrection: and this
belief is the end and clew to the mystery.

All this grief and search, this longing and crying for the absent, this
final restoration and the bliss of new possession, is set forth by the
youths and damsels-now in slow and now in vehement action, but always
with infinite grace.

Melissa threw her whole soul into the dance while Demeter was seeking the
lost Persephone, her thoughts were with her brothers; and she laughed as
heartily as any one at the jests with which Iambe cheered the stricken
mother. And when the joy of meeting was to find expression, she need not
think of anything but the fact that the youth who held out his hand to
her loved her and cared for her. In this, for the moment, lay the end of
all her longing and seeking, the fulfillment of every wish; and as the
chorus shouted, "Iakchos!" again and again, her soul seemed to have taken
wings.

The reserve of her calm and maidenly nature broke down; in her ecstasy
she snatched from her shoulder the wreath of ivy with which Diodoros had
decked her, and waved it aloft. Her long hair had fallen loose in the
dance and flowed wildly about her, and her shout of "Iakchos!" rang clear
in the night air.

The youth she loved gazed at her with ravished eyes, as at some miracle;
she, heedless of the others, threw her arms round his neck, and, as he
kissed her, she said once more, but loud enough now to be heard from
afar, "The world is a banqueting-hall!" and again she joined in the shout
of "Iakchos!" her eyes bright with excitement. Cups filled high with
wine now circulated among the mad-cap mystics; even Melissa refreshed
herself, handing the beaker to her lover, and Diodoros raised to his
mouth that place on the rim which her lips had touched.

"O life! fount of joys!" cried Diodoros, kissing her and pressing her
closer to him. "Come, Iakchos! Behold with envy how thankfully two
mortals can bless the gift of life. But where is Alexander? To none but
to our Andreas have I ever confided the secret I have borne in my heart
since that day when we went to the circus. But now! Oh, it is so much
happiness for two hearts! My friend, too, must have part in it!"

At this Melissa clasped her hand to her brow, as though waking from a
dream. How hot she was from dancing, and the unusual strength of the
wine and water she had drunk!

The danger impending over both her brothers came back to her mind. She
had always been accustomed to think of others rather than herself, and
her festal mood dropped from her suddenly, like a mantle of which the
brooch breaks. She vehemently shook herself free of her lover's embrace,
and her eyes glanced from one to another in rapid search.

There stood pretty Ino, who had danced the mazy measure with Alexander.
Panting for breath, she stood leaning her weary head and tangled hair
against the trunk of the tree, a wine-cup upside down in her right hand.
It must be empty; but where was he who had emptied it?

Her neighbor's daughter would surely know. Had the reckless youth
quarreled with the girl? No, no!

One of the tavern-keeper's slaves, Ino told her, had whispered something
to Alexander, whereupon he had instantly followed the man into the house.
Melissa knew that it could be no trivial matter which detained him there,
and hurried after him into the tavern.

The host, a Greek, and his buxom wife, affected not to know for whom she
was inquiring; but, perceiving the anxiety which spoke in every line of
the girl's face, when she explained that she was Alexander's sister, they
at first looked at each other doubtingly, and then the woman, who had
children of her own, who fondly loved each other, felt her heart swell
within her, and she whispered, with her finger on her lips: "Do not be
uneasy, pretty maid; my husband will see him well through."

And then Melissa heard that the Egyptian, who had alarmed her in the
Nekropolis, was the spy Zminis, who, as her old slave Dido had once told
her, had been a rejected suitor of her mother's before she had married
Heron, and who was therefore always glad to bring trouble on all who
belonged to her father's house. How often had she heard of the
annoyances in which this man had involved her father and Alexander,
who were apt to be very short with the man!

This tale-bearer, who held the highest position as guardian of the peace
under the captain of the night-watch, was of all men in the city the most
hated and feared; and he had heard her brother speaking of Caesar in a
tone of mockery which was enough to bring him to prison, to the quarries,
nay, to death. Glaukias, the sculptor, had previously seen the Egyptian
on the bridge, where he had detained those who were returning home from
the city of the dead. He and his followers had already stopped the poet
Argeios on his way, but the thyrsus staves of the Dionysiac revelers had
somewhat spoiled the game for him and his satellites. He was probably
still standing on the bridge. Glaukias had immediately run back, at any
risk, to warn Alexander. He and the painter were now in hiding, and
would remain in safety, come what might, in the cellar at the Cock, till
the coast was clear again. The tavern-keeper strongly advised no one to
go meddling with his wine-skins and jars.

"Much less that Egyptian dog!" cried his wife, doubling her fist as
though the hated mischief-maker stood before her already.

"Poor, helpless lamb!" she murmured to herself, as she looked
compasionately at the fragile, town-bred girl, who stood gazing at the
ground as if she had been struck by lightning. She remembered, too, how
hard life had seemed to her in her own young days, and glanced with pride
at her brawny arms, which were able indeed to work and manage.

But what now?

The drooping flower suddenly raised her head, as if moved by a spring,
exclaiming: "Thank you heartily, thank you! But that will never do. If
Zminis searches your premises he will certainly go into the cellar; for
what can he not do in Caesar's name? I will not part from my brother."

"Then you, too, are a welcome guest at the Cock," interrupted the woman,
and her husband bowed low, assuring her that the Cock was as much her
house as it was his.

But the helpless town-bred damsel declined this friendly invitation; for
her shrewd little head had devised another plan for saving her brother,
though the tavern-keepers, to whom she confided it in a whisper, laughed
and shook their heads over it. Diodoros was waiting outside in anxious
impatience; he loved her, and he was her brother's best friend. All that
he could do to save Alexander he would gladly do, she knew. On the
estate which would some day be his, there was room and to spare to hide
the fugitives, for one of the largest gardens in the town was owned by
his father. His extensive grounds had been familiar to her from her
childhood, for her own mother and her lover's had been friends; and
Andreas, the freedman, the overseer of Polybius's gardens and
plantations, was dearer to her and her brothers than any one else in
Alexandria.

Nor had she deceived herself, for Diodoros made Alexander's cause his
own, in his eager, vehement way; and the plan for his deliverance seemed
doubly admirable as proceeding from Melissa. In a few minutes Alexander
and the sculptor were released from their hiding-place, and all further
care for them was left to Diodoros.

They were both very, craftily disguised. No one would have recognized
the artists in two sailors, whose Phrygian caps completely hid their
hair, while a heavy fisherman's apron was girt about their loins; still
less would any one have suspected from their laughing faces that
imprisonment, if nothing worse, hung over them. Their change of garb had
given rise to so much fun; and now, on hearing how they were to be
smuggled into the town, their merriment grew higher, and proved catching
to those who were taken into the secret. Only Melissa was oppressed with
anxious care, in spite of her lover's eager consolation.

Glaukias, a man of scarcely middle height, was sure of not being
recognized, and he and his comrades looked forward to whatever might
happen as merely an amusing jest. At the same time they had to balk the
hated chief of the city guards and his menials of their immediate prey;
but they had played them a trick or two ere now. It might turn out
really badly for Alexander; still, it was only needful to keep him
concealed till Caesar should arrive; then he would be safe, for the
Emperor would certainly absorb all the thoughts and time of the captain
of the night-watch and his chief officers. In Alexandria, anything once
past was so soon forgotten! When once Caracalla was gone--and it was to
be hoped that he would not stay long--no one would ever think again of
any biting speech made before his arrival.

The morning must bring what it might, so long as the present moment was
gay!

So, refreshed and cheered by rest and wine, the party of mystics prepared
to set out again; and, as the procession started, no one who did not know
it had observed that the two artists, disguised as sailors, were, by
Melissa's advice, hidden inside the kalathos of Serapis, which would
easily have held six, and was breast-high even for Alexander, who was a
tall man. They squatted on the floor of the huge vessel, with a jar of
wine between them, and peeped over now and then with a laugh at the
girls, who had again seated themselves on the edge of the car.

When they were fairly on their way once more, Alexander and his
companions were so daring that, whenever they could do it unobserved,
they pelted the damsels with the remains of the corn, or sprinkled them
with wine-drops. Glaukias had the art of imitating the pattering of rain
and the humming of a fly to perfection with his lips; and when the girls
complained of the tiresome insect buzzing in their faces, or declared,
when a drop fell on them, that in spite of the blue and cloudless sky it
was certainly beginning to rain, the two men had to cover their mouths
with their hands, that their laughter might not betray them.

Melissa, who had comforted Ino with the assurance that Alexander had been
called away quite unexpectedly, was now sitting by her side, and
perceived, of course, what tricks the men in the kalathos were playing;
but, instead of amusing her, they only made her anxious.

Every one about her was laughing and joking, but for her all mirth was at
an end. Fear, indeed, weighed on her like an incubus, when the car
reached the bridge and rattled across it. It was lined with soldiers and
lictors, who looked closely at each one, even at Melissa herself. But no
one spoke to her, and when the water lay behind them she breathed more
freely. But only for a moment; for she suddenly remembered that they
would presently have to pass through the gate leading past Hadrian's
western wall into the town. If Zminis were waiting there instead of on
the bridge, and were to search the vehicle, then all would be lost, for
he had looked her, too, in the face with those strange, fixed eyes of
his; and that where he saw the sister he would also seek the brother,
seemed to her quite certain. Thus her presence was a source of peril to
Alexander, and she must at any cost avert that.

She immediately put out her hand to Diodoros, who was walking at her
side, and with his help slipped down from her seat. Then she whispered
her fears to him, and begged him to quit the party and conduct her home.

This was a surprising and delightful task for her lover. With a jesting
word he leaped on to the car, and even succeeded in murmuring to
Alexander, unobserved, that Melissa had placed herself under his
protection. When they got home, they could tell Heron and Andreas that
the youths were safe in hiding. Melissa could explain, to-morrow
morning, how everything had happened. Then he drew Melissa's arm through
his, loudly shouted, "Iakchos!" and with a swift dance-step soon
outstripped the wagon.

Not fifty paces beyond, large pine torches sent bright flames up skyward,
and by their light the girl could see the dreaded gateway, with the
statues of Hadrian and Sabina, and in front of them, in the middle of the
road, a horseman, who, as they approached, came trotting forward to meet
them on his tall steed. His head towered above every one else in the
road; and as she looked up at him her heart almost ceased beating, for
her eyes met those of the dreaded Egyptian; their white balls showed
plainly in his brown, lean face, and their cruel, evil sparkle had
stamped them clearly on her memory.

On her right a street turned off from the road, and saying in a low tone,
"This way," she led Diodoros, to his surprise, into the shadow. His
heart beat high. Did she, whose coy and maidenly austerity before and
after the intoxication of the dance had vouchsafed him hardly a kind look
or a clasp of the hand-did she even yearn for some tender embrace alone
and in darkness? Did the quiet, modest girl, who, since she had ceased
to be a child, had but rarely given him a few poor words, long to tell
him that which hitherto only her bright eyes and the kiss of her pure
young lips had betrayed?

He drew her more closely to him in blissful expectation; but she shyly
shrank from his touch, and before he could murmur a single word of love
she exclaimed in terror, as though the hand of the persecutor were
already laid on her: "Fly, fly! That house will give us shelter."

And she dragged him after her into the open doorway of a large building.
Scarcely had they entered the dark vestibule when the sound of hoofs was
heard, and the glare of torches dispelled the darkness outside.

"Zminis! It is he--he is following us!" she whispered, scarcely able to
speak; and her alarm was well founded, for the Egyptian had recognized
her, and supposed her companion to be Alexander. He had ridden down the
street with his torchbearers, but where she had hidden herself his keen
eyes could not detect, for the departing sound of hoofs betrayed to the
breathless listeners that the pursuer had left their hiding-place far
behind him. Presently the pavement in front of the house which sheltered
them rang again with the tramp of the horse, till it died away at last in
the direction of Hadrian's gate. Not till then did Melissa lift her hand
from her painfully throbbing heart.

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