Arachne, Volume 1.

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ARACHNE

By Georg Ebers

Volume 1.

Translated from the German by Mary J. Safford

CHAPTER I.

Deep silence brooded over the water and the green islands which rose like
oases from its glittering surface. The palms, silver poplars, and
sycamores on the largest one were already casting longer shadows as the
slanting rays of the sun touched their dark crowns, while its glowing
ball still poured a flood of golden radiance upon the bushes along the
shore, and the light, feathery tufts at the tops of the papyrus reeds in
the brackish water.

More than one flock of large and small waterfowl flew past beneath the
silvery cloudlets flecking the lofty azure vault of heaven; here and
there a pelican or a pair of wild ducks plunged, with short calls which
ceased abruptly, into the lush green thicket, but their cackling and
quacking belonged to the voices of Nature, and, when heard, soon died
away in the heights of the tipper air, or in the darkness of the
underbrush that received the birds. Very few reached the little city of
Tennis, which now, during the period of inundation in the year 274 B.C.,
was completely encircled by water.

From the small island, separated from it by a channel scarcely three
arrow-shots wide, it seemed as though sleep or paralysis had fallen upon
the citizens of the busy little industrial town, for few people appeared
in the streets, and the scanty number of porters and sailors who were
working among the ships and boats in the little fleet performed their
tasks noiselessly, exhausted by the heat and labour of the day.

Columns of light smoke rose from many of the buildings, but the sunbeams
prevented its ascent into the clear, still air, and forced it to spread
over the roofs as if it, too, needed rest.

Silence also reigned in the little island diagonally opposite to the
harbour. The Tennites called it the Owl's Nest, and, though for no
especial reason, neither they nor the magistrates of King Ptolemy II ever
stepped upon its shores. Indeed, a short time before, the latter had
even been forbidden to concern themselves about the pursuits of its
inhabitants; since, though for centuries it had belonged to a family of
seafaring folk who were suspected of piracy, it had received, two
generations ago, from Alexander the Great himself, the right of asylum,
because its owner, in those days, had commanded a little fleet which
proved extremely useful to the conqueror of the world in the siege of
Gaza and during the expedition to Egypt. True, under the reign of
Ptolemy I, the owners of the Owl's Nest were on the point of being
deprived of this favour, because they were repeatedly accused of piracy
in distant seas; but it had not been done. Yet for the past two years an
investigation had threatened Satabus, the distinguished head of the
family, and during this period he, with his ships and his sons, had
avoided Tennis and the Egyptian coast.

The house occupied by the islanders stood on the shore facing the little
city. It had once been a stately building, but now every part of it
seemed to be going to ruin except the central portion, which presented a
less dilapidated appearance than the sorely damaged, utterly neglected
side wings.

The roof of the whole long structure had originally consisted of palm
branches, upon which mud and turf had been piled; but this, too, was now
in repair only on the central building. On the right and left wings the
rain which often falls in the northeastern part of the Nile Delta, near
the sea, had washed off the protecting earth, and the wind had borne it
away as dust.

Once the house had been spacious enough to shelter a numerous family and
to store a great quantity of goods and provisions, but it was now long
since the ruinous chambers had been occupied. Smoke rose only from the
opening in the roof of the main building, but its slender column showed
from what a very scanty fire it ascended.

The purpose which this was to serve was readily discovered, for in front
of the open door of the dwelling, that seemed far too large and on
account of the pillars at the entrance, which supported a triangular
pediment--also too stately for its sole occupant, sat an old woman,
plucking three ducks.

In front of her a girl, paying no heed to her companion, stood leaning
against the trunk of the low, wide-branching sycamore tree near the
shore. A narrow boat, now concealed from view by the dense growth of
rushes, had brought her to the spot.

The beautiful, motherless young creature, needing counsel, had come to
old Tabus to appeal to her art of prophecy and, if she wanted them, to
render her any little services; for the old dame on the island was
closely bound to Ledscha, the daughter of one of the principal ship-
owners in Tennis, and had once been even more closely united to the girl.

Now, as the sun was about to set, the latter gave herself up to a wild
tumult of sweet memories, anxious fears, and yearning expectation.

Not until a cool breath from the neighbouring sea fanned her brow did she
throw down the cord and implement with which she had been adding a few
meshes to a net, and rising, gaze sometimes across the water at a large
white house in the northern part of the city, sometimes at the little
harbour or the vessels on the horizon steering toward Tennis, among which
her keen eyes discovered a magnificent ship with bright-hued sails.

Drawing a long breath, she enjoyed the coolness which precedes the
departure of the daystar.

But the effect of this harbinger of night upon her surroundings was even
more powerful than upon herself, for the sun in the western horizon
scarcely began to sink slowly behind the papyrus thicket on the shore of
the straight Tanite arm of the Nile, dug by human hands, than one new and
strange phenomenon followed another.

First a fan, composed of countless glowing rays which spread in dazzling
radiance over the west, rose from the vanishing orb and for several
minutes adorned the lofty dome of the deep-blue sky like the tail of a
gigantic peacock. Then the glitter of the shining plumes paled. The
light-giving body from which they emanated disappeared and, in its stead,
a crimson mantle, with gold-bordered, crocus-yellow edges, spread itself
over the space it had left until the gleaming tints merged into the
deeper hues of the violet.

But the girl paid no heed to this splendid spectacle. Perhaps she
noticed how the fading light diffused a delicate rose-hued veil over the
light-blue sails, embroidered with silver vines, of the approaching state
galley, making its gilded prow glitter more brightly, and saw one fishing
boat after another move toward the harbour, but she gave the whole scene
only a few careless glances.

Ledscha cared little for the poor fishermen of Tennis, and the glittering
state galley could scarcely bring or bear away anything of importance to
her.

The epistrategus of the whole province was daily expected. But of what
consequence to the young girl were the changes which it was rumoured he
intended to introduce into the government of the country, concerning
which her father had expressed such bitter dissatisfaction before he set
out on his last trip to Pontus?

A very different matter occupied her thoughts, and as, pressing her hand
upon her heart, she gazed at the little city, gleaming with crimson hues
in the reflection of the setting sun, a strange, restless stir pervaded
the former stillness of Nature. Pelicans and flamingoes, geese and
ducks, storks and herons, ibises and cranes, bitterns and lapwings, flew
in dark flocks of manifold forms from all directions. Countless
multitudes of waterfowl darkened the air as they alighted upon the
uninhabited islands, and with ear-splitting croaking and cackling,
whistling and chirping, clapping and twittering, dropped into the sedges
and bushes which concealed their nests, while in the city the doors of
the houses opened, and men, women, and children, after toiling at the
loom and in the workshop, came out to enjoy the coolness of the evening
in the open air.

One fishing boat after another was already throwing a rope to the shore,
as the ship with the gay sails approached the little roadstead.

How large and magnificent it was!

None of the king's officials had ever used such a galley, not even the
epistrategus of the Delta, who last year had given the banking and the
oil trade to new lessees. Besides, the two transports that had followed
the magnificent vessel appeared to belong to it.

Ledscha had watched the ships indifferently enough, but suddenly her
gaze--and with it the austere beauty of her face--assumed a different
expression.

Her large black eyes dilated, and with passionate intentness she looked
from the gaily ornamented galley to the shore, which several men in Greek
costume were approaching.

The first two had come from the large white house whose door, since
sunset, had been the principal object of her attention.

It was Hermon, the taller one, for whom she was waiting with old Tabus.
He had promised to take her from the Owl's Nest, after nightfall, for a
lonely row upon the water.

Now he was not coming alone, but with his fellow-artist, the sculptor
Myrtilus, the nomarch and the notary--she recognised both distinctly--
Gorgias, the rich owner of the second largest weaving establishment in
Tennis, and several slaves.

What did it mean?

A sudden flush crimsoned her face, now slightly tanned, to the brow, and
her lips were compressed, giving her mouth an expression of repellent,
almost cruel harshness.

But the tension of her charming features, whose lines, though sharp, were
delicately outlined, soon vanished. There was still plenty of time
before the darkness would permit Hermon to join her unnoticed. A
reception, from which he could not be absent, was evidently about to take
place.

Yes, that was certainly the case; for now the magnificent galley had
approached as near the land as the shallow water permitted, and the
whistle of the rowers' flute-player, shouts of command, and the barking
of dogs could be heard.

Then a handkerchief waved a greeting from the vessel to the men on shore,
but the hand that held it was a woman's. Ledscha would have recognised
it had the twilight been far deeper.

The features of the new arrival could no longer be distinguished; but she
must be young. An elderly woman would not have sprung so nimbly into the
skiff that was to convey her to the land.

The man who assisted her in doing so was the same sculptor, Hermon, for
whom she had watched with so much longing.

Again the blood mounted into Ledscha's cheeks, and when she saw the
stranger lay her hand upon the shoulder of the Alexandrian who, only
yesterday, had assured the young girl of his love with ardent vows, and
allow him to lift her out of the boat, she buried her little white teeth
deeply in her lips.

She had never seen Hermon in the society of a woman of his own class,
and, full of jealous displeasure; perceived with what zealous assiduity
he who bowed before no one in Tennis, paid court to the stranger no less
eagerly than did his friend Myrtilus.

The whole scene passed like a shadow in the dusk before Ledscha's eyes,
half dimmed by uneasiness, perplexity, and suddenly inflamed jealousy.

The Egyptian twilight is short, and when Hermon disappeared with the new-
comer it was no longer possible to recognise the man who entered the very
boat in which she was to have taken the nocturnal voyage with her lover,
and which was now rowed toward the Owl's Nest.

Surely it would bring her a message from Hermon; and as the stranger, who
was now joined by a number of other women and two packs of barking dogs,
with their keepers, vanished in the darkness, the skiff already touched
the shore close at her side.

CHAPTER II.

In spite of the surrounding gloom, Ledscha recognised the man who left
the boat.

The greeting he shouted told her that it was Hermon's slave, Pias, a
Biamite, whom she had met in the house of some neighbours who were his
relatives and had sharply rebuffed when he ventured to accost her more
familiarly than was seemly for one in bondage.

True, in his childhood this man had lived near Tennis as the son of a
free papyrus raiser, but when still a lad was sold into slavery in
Alexandria with his father, who had been seized for taking part in an
insurrection against the last king.

In the service of Areluas, his present master's uncle, who had given him
to his nephew, and as the slave of the impetuous yet anything but cruel
sculptor, Hermon, he had become accustomed to bondage, but was still far
more strongly attached to his Biamite race than to the Greek, to whom,
it is true, his master belonged, but who had robbed him and his family of
freedom.

The man of forty did not lack mother wit, and as his hard fate rendered
him thoughtful and often led him to use figurative turns of speech, which
were by no means intended as jests, he had been called by his first
master "Bias" for the sage of Priene.

In the house of Hermon, who associated with the best artists in
Alexandria, he had picked up all sorts of knowledge and gladly welcomed
instruction. His highest desire was to win esteem, and he often did so.

Hermon prized the useful fellow highly. He had no secrets from him, and
was sure of his silence and good will.

Bias had managed to lure many a young beauty in Alexandria, in whom the
sculptor had seen a desirable model, to his studio, even under the most
difficult circumstances; but he was vexed to find that his master had
cast his eye upon the daughter of one of the most distinguished families
among his own people. He knew, too, that the Biamites jealously guarded
the honour of their women, and had represented to Hermon what a dangerous
game he was playing when he began to offer vows of love to Ledscha.

So it was an extremely welcome task to be permitted to inform her that
she was awaiting his master in vain.

In reply to her inquiry whether it was the aristocrat who had just
arrived who kept Hermon from her, he admitted that she was right, but
added that the gods were above even kings, and his master was obliged to
yield to the Alexandrian's will.

Ledscha laughed incredulously: "He--obey a woman!"

"He certainly would not submit to a man," replied the slave. "Artists,
you must know, would rather oppose ten of the most powerful men than one
weak woman, if she is only beautiful. As for the daughter of Archias--
thereby hangs a tale."

"Archias?" interrupted the girl. "The rich Alexandrian who owns the
great weaving house?"

"The very man."

"So it is his daughter who is keeping Hermon? And you say he is obliged
to serve her?"

"As men serve the Deity, to the utmost, or truth," replied the slave
importantly. "Archias, the father, it is true, imposed upon us the debt
which is most tardily paid, and which people, even in this country, call
'gratitude.' We are under obligations to the old man--there's no denying
it--and therefore also to his only child."

"For what?" Ledscha indignantly exclaimed, and the dark eyebrows which
met above her delicate nose contracted suspiciously. "I must know!"

"Must!" repeated the slave. "That word is a ploughshare which suits
only loose soil, and mine, now that my master is waiting for me, can not
be tilled even by the sharpest. Another time! But if, meanwhile, you
have any message for Hermon----"

"Nothing," she replied defiantly; but Bias, in a tone of the most eager
assent, exclaimed: "One friendly word, girl. You are the fairest among
the daughters of the highest Biamite families, and probably the richest
also, and therefore a thousand times too good to yield what adorns you
to the Greek, that it may tickle the curiosity of the Alexandrian apes.
There are more than enough women in the capital to serve that purpose.
Trust the experience of a man not wholly devoid of wisdom, my girl. He
will throw you aside like an empty wine bottle when he has used you for
a model."

"Used?" interrupted Ledscha disdainfully; but he repeated with firm
decision: "Yes, used! What could you learn of life, of art and artists,
here in the weaver's nest in the midst of the waves? I know them. A
sculptor needs beautiful women as a cobbler wants leather, and the charms
he seeks in you he does not conceal from his friend Myrtilus, at least.
They are your large almond-shaped eyes and your arms. They make him
fairly wild with delight by their curves when, in drawing water, you hold
the jug balanced on your head. Your slender arched foot, too, is a
welcome morsel to him."

The darkness prevented Bias from seeing Ledscha's features, but it
was easy to perceive what was passing in her mind as, hoarse with
indignation, she gasped: "How can I know the object of your accusations?
but fie upon the servant who would alienate from his own kind master what
his soul desires!"

Then Bias changed not only his tone of voice, but his language, and,
deeply offended, poured forth a torrent of wrath in the dialect of his
people: "If to guard you, and my master with you, from harm, my words had
the power to put between you and Hermon the distance which separates
yonder rising moon from Tennis, I would make them sound as loud as the
lion's roar. Yet perhaps you would not understand them, for you go
through life as though you were deaf and blind. Did you ever even ask
yourself whether the Greek is not differently constituted from the sons
of the Biamite sailors and fishermen, with whom you grew up, and to whom
he is an abomination? Yet he is no more like them than poppy juice is
like pure water. He and his companions turn life upside down. There is
no more distinction between right and wrong in Alexandria than we here in
the dark can make between blue and green. To me, the slave, who is
already growing old, Hermon is a kind master. I know without your aid
what I owe him, and serve him as loyally as any one; but where he
threatens to lead to ruin the innocent daughter of the race whose blood
flows in my veins as well as yours, and in doing so perhaps finally
destroy himself too, conscience commands me to raise my voice as loud as
the sentinel crane when danger threatens the flock. Beware, girl, I
repeat! Keep your beauty, which is now to be degraded to feast the eyes
of gaping Greeks, for the worthiest husband among our people. Though
Hermon has vowed, I know not what, your love-dallying will very soon be
over; we shall leave Tennis within the next few days. When he has gone
there will be one more deceived Biamite who will call down the curse of
the gods upon the head of a Greek. You are not the only one who will
execrate the destiny that brought us here. Others have been caught in
his net too."

"Here?" asked Ledscha in a hollow tone; and the slave eagerly answered:
"Where else? And that you may know the truth--among those who visited
Hermon in his studio is your own young sister."

"Our Taus? That child?" exclaimed the girl, stretching her hands
toward the slave in horror, as if to ward off some impending disaster.

"That child, who, I think, has grown into a very charming girl--and,
before her, pretty Gula, the wife of Paseth, who, like your father, is
away on his ship."

Here, in a tone of triumphant confidence, the answer rang from the
Biamite's lips: "There the slanderer stands revealed! Now you are
detected, now I perceive the meaning of your threat. Because, miserable
slave, you cherish the mad hope of beguiling me yourself, you do your
utmost to estrange me from your master. Gula, you say, visited Hermon in
his studio, and it may be true. But though I have been at home only a
short time, Tennis is too full of the praises of the heroic Greek who,
at the risk of his own life, rescued a child from Paseth's burning house,
for the tale not to reach my ears from ten or a dozen different quarters.
Gula is the mother of the little girl whose life was saved by Hermon's
bold deed, and perhaps the young mother only knocked at her benefactor's
door to thank him; but you, base defamer--"

"I," Bias continued, maintaining his composure with difficulty, "I saw
Gula secretly glide into our rooms again and again to permit her child's
preserver to imitate in clay what he considered beautiful. To seek your
love, as you know, the slave forbade himself, although a man no more
loses tender desires with his freedom than the tree which is encircled by
a fence ceases to put forth buds and blossoms. Eros chooses the slave's
heart also as the target for his arrows; but his aim at yours was better
than at mine. Now I know how deeply he wounds, and so, as soon as yonder
ship in the harbour bears our visitor away again, I shall see you,
Schalit's daughter, Ledscha, standing before Hermon's modelling table and
behold him scan your beauty to determine what seems worth copying."

The Biamite, panting for breath, had listened to the end. Then, raising
her little clinched hand menacingly, she muttered through her set teeth:
"Let him try even to touch my veil with his fingers! If I had not been
obliged to go away, this would not have happened to my Taus and luckless
Gula."

"Scarcely," replied Bias calmly. "If the chicken runs into the water,
the hen can not save it. For the rest--I grew up as a boy in freedom
with the husband of your sister, who summoned you to her aid. His
father's brick-kiln was next to our papyrus plantation. Then we fared
like so many others--the great devour the small, the just cause is the
lost one, and the gods are like men. My father, who drew the sword
against oppression and violence, was robbed of liberty, and your brother-
in-law, in payment for his honest courage, met an early death. Is the
story which is told of you here true? I heard that soon after the poor
fellow's burial the slaves in the brick-kiln refused to obey his widow.
There were a dozen rebellious brick-moulders, and you--one can forgive
you much for it--you, the weak girl----"

"I am not weak," interrupted Ledscha proudly. "I could have taught three
times twelve of the scoundrels who was master. Now they obey my sister,
and yet I wish I had stayed in Tennis. Our Taus," she continued in a
more gentle tone, "is still so young, and our mother died when she was a
little child; but I, fool, who should have warned her, left her alone,
and if she yielded to Hermon's temptations the fault is mine, wholly
mine."

During this outburst the light of the fire, which old Tabus had fed with
fresh straw and dry rushes, fell upon the face of the agitated girl. It
revealed her thoughts plainly enough, and, pleased with the success of
his warning, Bias exclaimed: "And Ledscha, you, too, will not grant him
that from which you would so gladly have withheld your sister. So I will
go and tell my master that you refuse to give him another appointment."

He had confidently expected an assent, and therefore started indignantly
at her exclamation: "I intend to do just the contrary." Yet she eagerly
added, as if in explanation: "He must give me an account of himself, no
matter where, and, since it can not be to-day, to-morrow at latest."

The slave, disappointed and anxious, now tried to make her understand how
foolish and hard to accomplish her wish was, but she obstinately insisted
upon having her own way.

Bias angrily turned his back upon her and, in the early light of the
moon, walked toward the shore, but she hastened after him, seized his arm
and, with imperious firmness, commanded: "You will stay! I must first
know whether Hermon really means to leave Tennis so soon."

"That was his intention early this morning," replied the other, releasing
himself from her grasp. "What are we to do here longer, now that his
work is as good as finished?"

"But when is he going?" she urged with increased eagerness.

"Day after to-morrow," was the reply, "in five, or perhaps even in six
days, just as it suits him. Usually we do not even know to-day what is
to be done to-morrow. So long as the Alexandrian remains, he will
scarcely leave her, or Myrtilus either. Probably she will take both
hunting with her, for, though a kind, fair-minded woman, she loves the
chase, and as both have finished their work, they probably will not be
reluctant to go with Daphne."

He stepped into the boat as he spoke, but Ledscha again detained him,
asking impatiently: "And 'the work,' as you call it? It was covered
with a cloth when I visited the studio, but Hermon himself termed it the
statue of a goddess. Yet what it represents--Does it look like my sister
Taus--enough like her, I mean, to be recognised?"

A half-compassionate, half-mocking smile flitted over the Biamite's
copper-coloured visage, and in a tone of patronizing instruction assumed
by the better informed, he began: "You are thinking of the face? Why no,
child! What that requires can be found in the countenance of no Biamite,
hardly even in yours, the fairest of all."

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