Serapis, Volume 3.

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SERAPIS

By Georg Ebers

Volume 3.

CHAPTER XI.

Agne's flight remained unperceived for some little time, for every member
of the merchant's household was at the moment intent on some personal
interest. When Karnis and Orpheus had set out Gorgo was left with her
grandmother and it was not till some little time after that she went out
into the colonade on the garden side of the house, whence she had a view
over the park and the shore as far as the ship-yard. There, leaning
against the shaft of a pillar, under the shade of the blossoming shrubs,
she stood gazing thoughtfully to the southward.

She was dreaming of the past, of her childhood's joys and privations.
Fate had bereft her of a mother's love, that sun of life's spring. Below
her, in a splendid mausoleum of purple porphyry, lay the mortal remains
of the beautiful woman who had given her birth, and who had been snatched
away before she could give her infant a first caress. But all round the
solemn monument gardens bloomed in the sunshine, and on the further side
of the wall covered with creepers, was the ship-yard, the scene of
numberless delightful games. She sighed as she looked at the tall hulks,
and watched for the man who, from her earliest girlhood, had owned her
heart, whose image was inseparable from every thing of joy and beauty
that she had ever known, and every grief her young soul had suffered
under.

Constantine, the younger son of Clemens the shipbuilder, had been her
brothers' companion and closest friend. He had proved himself their
superior in talents and gifts, and in all their games had been the
recognized leader. While still a tiny thing she would always be at their
heels, and Constantine had never failed to be patient with her, or to
help and protect her, and then came a time when the lads were all eager
to win her sympathy for their games and undertakings. When her
grandmother read in the stars that some evil influences were to cross
the path of Gorgo's planet, the girl was carefully kept in the house;
at other times she was free to go with the boys in the garden, on the
lake or to the ship-yard. There the happy playmates built houses or
boats; there, in a separate room, old Melampus modelled figure-heads for
the finished vessels, and he would supply them with clay and let them
model too. Constantine was an apt pupil, and Gorgo would sit quiet while
he took her likeness, till, out of twenty images that he had made of her,
several were really very like. Melampus declared that his young master
might be a very distinguished sculptor if only he were the son of poor
parents, and Gorgo's father appreciated his talent and was pleased when
the boy attempted to copy the beautiful busts and statues of which the
house was full; but to his parents, and especially his mother, his
artistic proclivities were an offence. He himself, indeed, never
seriously thought of devoting himself to such a heathenish occupation,
for he was deeply penetrated by the Christian sentiments of his family,
and he had even succeeded in inflaming the sons of Porphyrius, who had
been baptized at an early age, with zeal for their faith. The merchant
perceived this and submitted in silence, for the boys must be and remain
Christians in consequence of the edict referring to wills; but the
necessity for confessing a creed which was hateful to him was so painful
and repulsive to a nature which, though naturally magnanimous was not
very steadfast, that he was anxious to spare his sons the same
experience, and allowed them to accompany Constantine to church and to
wear blue--the badge of the Christians--at races and public games, with a
shrug of silent consent.

With Gorgo it was different. She was a woman and need wear no colors;
and her enthusiasm for the old gods and Greek taste and prejudices were
the delight of her father. She was the pride of his life, and as he
heard his own convictions echoed in her childish prattle, and later in
her conversation and exquisite singing, he was grateful to his mother and
to his friend Olympius who had implanted and cherished these feelings in
his daughter. Constantine's endeavors to show her the beauty of his
creed and to win her to Christianity were entirely futile; and the older
they grew, and the less they agreed, the worse could each endure the
dissent of the other.

An early and passionate affection attracted the young man to his charming
playfellow; the more ardently he cherished his faith the more fervently
did he desire to win her for his wife. But Olympius' fair pupil was not
easy of conquest; nay, he was not unfrequently hard beset by her
questions and arguments, and while, to her, the fight for a creed was no
more than an amusing wrestling match, in which to display her strength,
to him it was a matter in which his heart was engaged.

Damia and Porphyrius took a vain pleasure in their eager discussions, and
clapped with delight, as though it were a game of skill, when Gorgo
laughingly checkmated her excited opponent with some unanswerable
argument.

But there came a day when Constantine discovered that his eager defence
of that which to him was high and holy, was, to his hearers, no more than
a subject of mockery, and henceforth the lad, now fast growing to
manhood, kept away from the merchant's house. Still, Gorgo could always
win him back again, and sometimes, when they were alone together, the old
strife would be renewed, and more seriously and bitterly than of old.
But while he loved her, she also loved him, and when he had so far
mastered himself as to remain away for any length of time she wore
herself out with longing to see him. They felt that they belonged to
each other, but they also felt that an insuperable gulf yawned between
them, and that whenever they attempted to clasp hands across the abyss a
mysterious and irresistible impulse drove them to open it wider, and to
dig it deeper by fresh discussions, till at last Constantine could not
endure that she, of all people, should mock at his Holy of Holies and
drag it in the dust.

He must go--he must leave Gorgo, quit Alexandria, cost what it might.
The travellers' tales that he had heard from the captains of trading-
vessels and ships of war who frequented his father's house had filled him
with a love of danger and enterprise, and a desire to see distant lands
and foreign peoples. His father's business, for which he was intended,
did not attract him. Away--away--he would go away; and a happy
coincidence opened a path for him.

Porphyrius had taken him one day on some errand to Canopus; the elder man
had gone in his chariot, his two sons and Constantine escorting him on
horseback. At the city-gates they met Romanus, the general in command of
the Imperial army, with his staff of officers, and he, drawing rein by
the great merchant's carriage, had asked him, pointing to Constantine,
whether that were his son.

"No," replied Porphyrius, "but I wish he were." At these words the ship-
master's son colored deeply, while Romanus turned his horse round, laid
his hand on the young man's arm and called out to the commander of the
cavalry of Arsinoe: "A soldier after Ares' own heart, Columella! Do not
let him slip."

Before the clouds of dust raised by the officers' horses as they rode
off, had fairly settled, Constantine had made up his mind to be a
soldier. In his parents' house, however, this decision was seen under
various aspects. His father found little to say against it, for he had
three sons and only two shipyards, and the question seemed settled by the
fact that Constantine, with his resolute and powerful nature, was cut out
to be a soldier. His pious mother, on the other hand, appealed to the
learned works of Clemens and Tertullian, who forbid the faithful
Christian to draw the sword; and she related the legend of the holy
Maximilianus, who, being compelled, under Diocletian, to join the army,
had suffered death at the hands of the executioner rather than shed his
fellow-creatures' blood in battle. The use of weapons, she added, was
incompatible with a godly and Christian life.

His father, however, would not listen to this reasoning; new times, he
said, were come; the greater part of the army had been baptized; the
Church prayed for, victory, and at the head of the troops stood the great
Theodosius, an exemplar of an orthodox and zealous Christian.

Clemens was master in his own house, and Constantine joined the heavy
cavalry at Arsinoe. In the war against the Blemmyes he was so fortunate
as to merit the highest distinction; after that he was in garrison at
Arsinoe, and, as Alexandria was within easy reach of that town, he was in
frequent intercourse with his own family and that of Porphyrius. Not
quite three years previously, when a revolt had broken out in favor of
the usurper Maximus in his native town, Constantine had assisted in
suppressing it, and almost immediately afterwards he was sent to Europe
to take part in the war which Theodosius had begun, again against
Maximus.

An unpleasant misunderstanding had embittered his parting from Gorgo;
old Damia, as she held his hand had volunteered a promise that she and
her granddaughter would from time to time slay a beast in sacrifice on
his behalf. Perhaps she had had no spiteful meaning in this, but he had
regarded it as an insult, and had turned away angry and hurt.
Gorgo, however, could not bear to let him go thus; disregarding her
grandmother's look of surprise, she had called him back, and giving him
both hands had warmly bidden him farewell. Damia had looked after him in
silence and had ever afterwards avoided mentioning his name in Gorgo's
presence.

After the victory over Maximus, Constantine, though still very young, was
promoted to the command of the troop in the place of Columella, and he
had arrived in Alexandria the day before at the head of his 'ala
miliaria'.

[The ala miliaria consisted of 24 'turmae' or 960 mounted troopers
under the conduct of a Prefect.]

Gorgo had never at any time ceased to think of him, but her passion had
constantly appeared to her in the light of treason and a breach of faith
towards the gods, so, to condone the sins she committed on one side by
zeal on another, she had come forth from the privacy of her father's
house to give active support to Olympius in his struggle for the faith of
their ancestors. She had become a daily worshipper at the temple of
Isis, and the hope of hearing her sing had already mere than once filled
it to overflowing at high festivals. Then, while Olympius was defending
the sanctuary of Serapis against the attacks of the Christians, she and
her grandmother had become the leaders of a party of women who made it
their task to provide the champions of the faith with the means of
subsistence.

All this had given purpose to her life; still, every little victory in
this contest had filled her soul with regrets and anxieties. For months
and years she had been conspicuous as the opponent of her lover's creed,
and the bright eager child had developed into a grave girl a clear-headed
and resolute woman. She was the only person in the house who dared to
contradict her grandmother, and to insist on a thing when she thought it
right. The longing of her heart she could not still, but her high spirit
found food for its needs in all that surrounded her, and, by degrees,
would no doubt have gained the mastery and have been supreme in all her
being and doing, but that music and song still fostered the softer
emotions of her strong, womanly nature.

The news of Constantine's return had shaken her soul to the foundations.
Would it bring her the greatest happiness or only fresh anguish and
unrest?

She saw him coming!--The plume of his helmet first came in sight above
the bushes, and then his whole figure emerged from among the shrubbery.
She leaned against the pillar for support now, for her knees trembled
under her. Tall and stately, his armor blazing in the sunshine, he came
straight towards her--a man, a hero--exactly as her fancy had painted him
in many a dark and sleepless hour. As he passed her mother's tomb, she
felt as though a cold hand laid a grip on her beating heart. In a swift
flash of thought she saw her own home with its wealth and splendor, and
then the ship-builder's house-simple, chillingly bare, with its
comfortless rooms; she felt as though she must perish, nipped and
withered, in such a home. Again she thought of him standing on his
father's threshold, she fancied she could hear his bright boyish laugh
and her heart glowed once more. She forgot for the moment--clear-headed
woman though she was, and trained by her philosopher to "know herself"--
she forgot what she had fully acknowledged only the night before: That he
would no more give up his Christ than she would her Isis, and that if
they should ever reach the dreamed-of pinnacle of joy it must be for an
instant only, followed by a weary length of misery. Yes--she forgot
everything; doubts and fears were cast aside; as his approaching
footsteps fell on her ear, she could hardly keep herself from flying,
open armed, to meet him.

He was standing before her; she offered him her hand with frank gladness,
and, as he clasped it in his, their hearts were too full for words.
Only their eyes gave utterance to their feelings, and when he perceived
that hers were sparkling through tears, he spoke her name once, twice--
joyfully and yet doubtfully, as if he dared not interpret her emotion as
he would. She laid her left hand lightly on his which still grasped her
right, and said with a brilliant smile: "Welcome, Constantine, welcome
home! How glad I am to see you back again!"

"And I--and I..." he began, greatly moved.

"O Gorgo! Can it really be years since we parted?"

"Yes, indeed," she said. "Anxious, busy, struggling years!"

"But to-day we celebrate the festival of Peace," he exclaimed fervently.
"I have learnt to leave every man to go his own way so long as I am
allowed to go mine. The old strife is buried; take me as I am and I, for
my part, will think only of the noble and beautiful traits in which your
nature is so rich. The fruit of all wholesome strife must be peace; let
us pluck that fruit, Gorgo, and enjoy it together. Ah! as I stand here
and gaze out over the gardens and the lake, hearing the hammers of the
shipwrights, and rejoicing in your presence, I feel as though our
childhood might begin all over again--only better, fuller and more
beautiful!"

"If only my brothers were here!"

"I saw them,"

"Oh! where?"

"At Thessalonica, well and happy--I have letters for you from them."

"Letters!" cried Gorgo, drawing away her hand. "Well, you are a tardy
messenger! Our houses are within a stone's throw, and yet in a whole
day, from noon till noon, so old a friend could not find a few minutes
to deliver the letters entrusted to him, or to call upon such near
neighbors . . ."

"First there were my parents," interrupted the young soldier.
"And then the tyrant military duty, which kept me on the stretch from
yesterday afternoon till an hour or two since. Romanus robbed me even of
my sleep, and kept me in attendance till the morn had set. However,
I lost but little by that, for I could not have closed my eyes till they
had beheld you! This morning again I was on duty, and rarely have I
ridden to the front with such reluctance. After that I was delayed by
various details; even on my way here--but for that I cannot be sorry for
it gave me this chance of finding you alone. All I ask now is that we
may remain so, for such a moment is not likely to be repeated.--There,
I heard a door . . ."

"Come into the garden," cried Gorgo, signing to him to follow her.
"My heart is as full as yours. Down by the tank under the old sycamores
--we shall be quietest there."

Under the dense shade of the centenarian trees was a rough-hewn bench
that they themselves had made years before; there Gorgo seated herself,
but her companion remained standing.

"Yes!" he exclaimed. "Here--here you must hear me! Here where we have
been so happy together!"

"So happy!" she echoed softly,

"And now," he went on, "we are together once more. My heart beats
wildly, Gorgo; it is well that this breastplate holds it fast, for I feel
as though it would burst with hope and thankfulness."

"Thankfulness?" said Gorgo, looking down.

"Yes, thankfulness--sheer, fervent passionate gratitude! What you have
given me, what an inestimable boon, you yourself hardly know; but no
emperor could reward love and fidelity more lavishly than you have done--
you, the care and the consolation, the pain and the joy of my life! My
mother told me--it was the first thing she thought of--how you shed tears
of grief on her bosom when the false report of my death reached home.
Those tears fell as morning dew on the drooping hopes in my heart, they
were a welcome such as few travellers find on their return home. I am no
orator, and if I were, how could speech in any way express my feelings?
But you know them--you understand what it is, after so many years . . ."

"I know," she said looking up into his eyes, and allowing him to seize
her hand as he dropped on the bench by her side. "If I did not I could
not bear this--and I freely confess that I shed many more tears over you
than you could imagine. You love me, Constantine . . ."

He threw his arm round her; but she disengaged herself, exclaiming:

"Nay--I implore you, not so--not yet, till I have told you what troubles
me, what keeps me from throwing myself wholly, freely into the arms of
happiness. I know what you will ask--what you have a right to ask; but
before you speak, Constantine, remember once more all that has so often
saddened our life, even as children, that has torn us asunder like a
whirlwind although, ever since we can remember, our hearts have flowed
towards each other. But I need not remind you of what binds us--that we
both know well, only too well..."

"Nay," he replied boldly: "That we are only beginning to know in all its
fullness and rapture. The other thing the whirlwind of which you speak,
has indeed tossed and tormented me, more than it has you perhaps; but
since I have known that you could shed tears for me and love me I have
had no more anxieties; I know for certain that all must come right! You
love me as I am, Gorgo. I am no dreamer nor poet; but I can look forward
to finding life lovely and noble if shared with you, so long as one--only
one thing is sure. I ask you plainly and truly: Is your heart as full of
love for me as mine is for you? When I was away did you think of me
every day, every night, as I thought of you, day and night without fail?"

Gorgo's head sank and blushes dyed her cheeks as she replied: "I love
you, and I have never even thought of any one else. My thoughts and
yearnings followed you all the while you were away... and yet... oh,
Constantine! That one thing . . ."

"It cannot part us," said the young man passionately, "since we have
love--the mighty and gracious power which conquers all things! When love
beckon: the whirlwind dies away like the breath from a child's lips; it
can bridge over any abyss; it created the world and preserves the
existence of humanity, it can remove mountains--and these are the most
beautiful words of the greatest of the apostles: 'It is long suffering
and kind, it believes all things, hopes all things' and it knows no end.
It remains with us till death and will teach us to find that peace whose
bulwark and adornment, whose child and parent it is!"

Gorgo had looked lovingly at him while he spoke, and he, pressing her
hand to his lips went on with ardent feeling:

"Yes, you shall be mine--I dare, and I will go to ask you of your father.
There are some words spoken in one's life which can never be forgotten.
Once your father said that he wished that I was his son. On the march,
in camp, in battle, wherever I have wandered, those words have been in my
mind; for me they could have but one meaning: I would be his son--I shall
be his son when Gorgo is my wife!--And now the time has come . . ."

"Not yet, not to-day," she interrupted eagerly. "My hopes are the same
as yours. I believe with you that our love can bring all that is
sweetest into our lives. What you believe I must believe, and I will
never urge upon you the things that I regard as holiest. I can give up
much, bear much, and it will all seem easy for your sake. We can agree,
and settle what shall be conceded to your Christ and what to our gods--
but not to-day; not even to-morrow. For the present let me first carry
out the task I have undertaken--when that is done and past, then... You
have my heart, my love; but if I were to prove a deserter from the cause
to-day or to-morrow it would give others--Olympius--a right to point at
me with scorn."

"What is it then that you have undertaken?" asked Constantine with grave
anxiety.

"To crown and close my past life. Before I can say: I am yours, wholly
yours . . ."

"Are you not mine now, to-day, at once?" he urged.

"To day-no," she replied firmly. "The great cause still has a claim upon
me; the cause which I must renounce for your sake. But the woman who
gives only one person reason to despise her signs the death-warrant of
her own dignity. I will carry out what I have undertaken... Do not ask
me what it is; it would grieve you to know.--The day after tomorrow, when
the feast of Isis is over . . ."

"Gorgo, Gorgo!" shouted Damia's shrill voice, interrupting the young
girl in her speech, and half a dozen slave-women came rushing out in
search of her.

They rose, and as they went towards the house Constantine said very
earnestly:

"I will not insist; but trust my experience: When we have to give
something up sooner or later, if the wrench is a painful one, the sooner
and the more definitely it is done the better. Nothing is gained by
postponement and the pain is only prolonged. Hesitation and delay,
Gorgo, are a barrier built up by your own hand between us and our
happiness. You always had abundance of determination; be brave then,
now, and cut short at once a state of things that cannot last."

"Well, well," she said hurriedly. "But you must not, you will not
require me to do anything that is beyond my strength, or that would
involve breaking my word. To-morrow is not, and cannot be yours; it must
be a day of leave-taking and parting. After that I am yours, I cannot
live without you. I want you and nothing else. Your happiness shall be
mine; only, do not make it too hard to me to part from all that has been
dear to me from my infancy. Shut your eyes to tomorrow's proceedings,
and then--oh! if only we were sure of the right path, if only we could
tread it together! We know each other so perfectly, and I know, I feel,
that it will perhaps be a comfort to our hearts to be patient with each
other over matters which our judgment fails to comprehend or even to
approve. I might be so unutterably happy; but my heart trembles within
me, and I am not, I dare not be quite glad yet."

CHAPTER XII.

The young soldier was heartily welcomed by his friends of the merchant's
family; but old Damia was a little uneasy at the attitude which he and
Gorgo had taken up after their first greeting. He was agitated and
grave, she was eager and excited, with an air of determined enterprise.

Was Eros at the bottom of it all? Were the young people going to carry
out the jest of their childhood in sober earnest? The young officer was
handsome and attractive enough, and her granddaughter after all was but a
woman.

So far as Constantine was concerned the old lady had no personal
objection to him; nay, she appreciated his steady, grave manliness and,
for his own sake, was very glad to see him once more; but to contemplate
the ship-builder's son--the grandson of a freedman--a Christian and
devoted to the Emperor, even though he were a prefect or of even higher
grade--as a possible suitor for her Gorgo, the beautiful heiress of the
greater part of her wealth--the centre of attraction to all the gilded
youth of Alexandria--this was too much for her philosophy; and, as she
had never in her life restrained the expression of her sentiments, though
she gave him a friendly hand and the usual greeting, she very soon showed
him, by her irony and impertinence, that she was as hostile to his creed
as ever.

She put her word in on every subject, and when, presently, Demetrius--
who, after Dada's rebuff, had come on to see his uncle--began speaking of
the horses he had been breeding for Marcus, and Constantine enquired
whether any Arabs from his stables were to be purchased in the town,
Damia broke out:

"You out-do your crucified God in most things I observe! He could ride
on an ass, and a stout Egyptian nag is not good enough for you."

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