CHAPTER XXXIV.
Caracalla's evening meal was ended, and for years past his friendshad never seen the gloomy monarch in so mad a mood. The high-priest ofSerapis, with Dio Cassius the senator, and a few others of his suite,had not indeed appeared at table; but the priest of Alexander, theprefect Macrinus, his favorites Theocritus, Pandion, Antigonus, andothers of their kidney, had crowded round him, had drunk to his health,and wished him joy of his glorious revenge.
Everything which legend or history had recorded of similar deeds wascompared with this day's work, and it was agreed that it transcendedthem all. This delighted the half-drunken monarch. To-day, he declaredwith flashing eyes, and not till to-day, he had dared to be entirelywhat Fate had called him to be--at once the judge and the executioner ofan accursed and degenerate race. As Titus had been named "the Good,"so he would be called "the Terrible." And this day had secured him thatgrand name, so pleasing to his inmost heart.
"Hail to the benevolent sovereign who would fain be terrible!" criedTheocritus, raising his cup; and the rest of the guests echoed him.
Then the number of the slain was discussed. No one could estimate itexactly. Zminis, the only man who could have seen everything, had notappeared: Fifty, sixty, seventy thousand Alexandrians were supposed tohave suffered death; Macrinus, however, asserted that there must havebeen more than a hundred thousand, and Caracalla rewarded him for hisstatement by exclaiming loudly "Splendid! grand! Hardly comprehensibleby the vulgar mind! But, even so, it is not the end of what I mean togive them. To-day I have racked their limbs; but I have yet to strikethem to the heart, as they have stricken me!"
He ceased, and after a short pause repeated unhesitatingly, and asthough by a sudden impulse, the lines with which Euripides ends severalof his tragedies:
"Jove in high heaven dispenses various fates; And now the gods shower blessings which our hope Dared not aspire to, now control the ills We deemed inevitable. Thus the god To these hath given an end we never thought."
--Potter's translation.
And this was the end of the revolting scene, for, as he spoke, Caesarpushed away his cup and sat staring into vacancy, so pale that hisphysician, foreseeing a fresh attack, brought out his medicine vial.
The praetorian prefect gave a signal to the rest that they should notnotice the change in their imperial host, and he did his best to keepthe conversation going, till Caracalla, after a long pause, wiped hisbrow and exclaimed hoarsely: "What has become of the Egyptian? He wasto bring in the living prisoners--the living, I say! Let him bring methem."
He struck the table by his couch violently with his fist; and then, asif the clatter of the metal vessels on it had brought him to himself,he added, meditatively: "A hundred thousand! If they burned their deadhere, it would take a forest to reduce them to ashes."
"This day will cost him dear enough as it is," the high-priest ofAlexander whispered; he, as idiologos, having to deposit the tributefrom the temples and their estates in the imperial treasury. Headdressed his neighbor, old Julius Paulinus, who replied:
"Charon is doing the best business to-day. A hundred thousand obolusin a few hours. If Tarautas reigns over us much longer, I will farm hisferry!"
During this whispered dialogue Theocritus the favorite was assuringCaesar in a loud voice that the possessions of the victims would sufficefor any form of interment, and an ample number of thank-offerings intothe bargain.
"An offering!" echoed Caracalla, and he pointed to a short sword whichlay beside him on the couch. "That helped in the work. My father wieldedit in many a fight, and I have not let it rust. Still, I doubt whetherin my hands and his together it ever before yesterday slaughtered ahundred thousand."
He looked round for the high-priest of Serapis, and after seeking him invain among the guests, he exclaimed:
"The revered Timotheus withdraws his countenance from us to-day. Yet itwas to his god that I dedicated the work of vengeance. He laments theloss of worshipers to great Serapis, as you, Vertinus"--and he turned tothe idiologos--"regret the slain tax-payers. Well, you are thinking ofmy loss or gain, and that I can not but praise. Your colleague in theservice of Serapis has nothing to care for but the honor of his god; buthe does not succeed in rising to the occasion. Poor wretch! I willgive him a lesson. Here Epagathos, and you, Claudius--go at once toTimotheus; carry him this sword. I devote it to his god. It is tobe preserved in his holy of holies, in memory of the greatest act ofvengeance ever known. If Timotheus should refuse the gift--But no, hehas sense--he knows me!"
He paused, and turned to look at Macrinus, who had risen to speak tosome officials and soldiers who had entered the room. They brought thenews that the Parthian envoys had broken off all negotiations, and hadleft the city in the afternoon. They would enter into no alliance, andwere prepared to meet the Roman army.
Macrinus repeated this to Caesar with a shrug of his shoulders, but hewithheld the remark added by the venerable elder of the ambassadors,that they did not fear a foe who by so vile a deed had incurred thewrath of the gods.
"Then it is war with the Parthians!" cried Caracalla, and his eyesflashed. "My breast-plated favorites will rejoice."
But then he looked grave, and inquired: "They are leaving the town, yousay? But are they birds? The gates and harbor are closed."
"A small Phoenician vessel stole out just before sundown between ourguard-ships," was the reply. "Curse it!" broke from Caesar's lips ina loud voice, and, after a brief dialogue in an undertone with theprefect, he desired to have papyrus and writing materials brought tohim. He himself must inform the senate of what had occurred, and he didso in a few words.
He did not know the number of the slain, and he did not think it worthwhile to make a rough estimate. All the Alexandrians, he said, had infact merited death. A swift trireme was to carry the letter to Ostia atdaybreak.
He did not, indeed, ask the opinion of the senate, and yet he felt thatit would be better that news of the day's events should reach the curiaunder his own hand than through the distorting medium of rumor.
Nor did Macrinus impress on him, as usual, that he should give hisdispatch a respectful form. This crime, if anything, might help him tothe fulfillment of the Magian's prophecy.
As Caesar was rolling up his missive, the long-expected Zminis came intothe room. He had attired himself splendidly, and bore the insignia ofhis new office. He humbly begged to be pardoned for his long delay.He had had to make his outer man fit to appear among Caesar's guests,for--as he boastfully explained--he himself had waded in blood, and inthe court-yard of the Museum the red life-juice of the Alexandrians hadreached above his horse's knees. The number of the dead, he declaredwith sickening pride, was above a hundred thousand, as estimated by theprefect.
"Then we will call it eleven myriad," Caracalla broke in. "Now, we havehad enough of the dead. Bring in the living."
"Whom?" asked the Egyptian, in surprise. Hereupon Caesar's eyelids beganto quiver, and in a threatening tone he reminded his bloody-handed toolof those whom he had ordered him to take alive. Still Zminis was silent,and Caesar furiously shrieked his demand as to whether by his blunderingHeron's daughter had escaped; whether he could not produce thegem-cutter and his son. The blood-stained butcher then perceived thatCaesar's murderous sword might be turned against him also. Still, he wasprepared to defend himself by every means in his power. His brain wasinventive, and, seeing that the fault for which he would least easily beforgiven was the failure to capture Melissa, he tried to screen himselfby a lie. Relying on an incident which he himself had witnessed, hebegan: "I felt certain of securing the gem-cutter's pretty daughter, formy men had surrounded his house. But it had come to the ears of theseAlexandrian scoundrels that a son of Heron's, a painter, and his sister,had betrayed their fellow-citizens and excited your wrath. It was tothem that they ascribed the punishment which I executed upon them inyour name. This rabble have no notion of reflection; before we couldhinder them they had rushed o
n the innocent dwelling. They flungfire-brands into it, burned it, and tore it down. Any one who was withinperished, and thus the daughter of Heron died. That is, unfortunately,proved. I can take the old man and his son tomorrow. To-day I have hadso much to do that there has not been time to bind the sheaves. It issaid that they had escaped before the mob rushed on the house."
"And the gem-cutter's daughter?" asked Caracalla, in a trembling voice."You are sure she was burned in the building?"
"As sure as that I have zealously endeavored to let the Alexandriansfeel your avenging hand," replied the Egyptian resolutely, and with abold face he confirmed his he. "I have here the jewel she wore on herarm. It was found on the charred body in the cellar. Adventus, yourchamberlain, says that Melissa received it yesterday as a gift from you.Here it is."
And he handed Caracalla the serpent-shaped bracelet which Caesar hadsent to his sweetheart before setting out for the Circus. The fire haddamaged it, but there was no mistaking it. It had been found beneath theruins on a human arm, and Zminis had only learned from the chamberlain,to whom he had shown it, that it had belonged to the daughter of Heron.
"Even the features of the corpse," Zminis added, "were stillrecognizable."
"The corpse!" Caesar echoed gloomily. "And it was the Alexandrians, yousay, who destroyed the house?"
"Yes, my lord; a raging mob, and mingled with them men of everyrace-Jews, Greeks, Syrians, what not. Most of them had lost a father, ason, or a brother, sent to Hades by your vengeance. Their wildest curseswere for Alexander, the painter, who in fact had played the spy for you.But the Macedonian phalanx arrived at the right moment. They killedmost of them and took some prisoners. You can see them yourself in themorning. As regards the wife of Seleukus--"
"Well," exclaimed Caesar, and his eye brightened again.
"She fell a victim to the clumsiness of the praetorians."
"Indeed!" interrupted the legate Quintus Flavius Nobilior, who hadgranted Alexander's life to the prayer of the twins Aurelius; andMacrinus also forbade any insulting observations as to the blamelesstroops whom he had the honor to command.
But the Egyptian was not to be checked; he went on eagerly: "Pardon,my lords. It is perfectly certain, nevertheless, that it was apraetorian--his name is Rufus, and he belongs to the second cohort--whopierced the lady Berenike with his spear."
Flavius here begged to be allowed to speak, and reported how Berenikehad sought and found her end. And he did so as though he were narratingthe death of a heroine, but he added, in a tone of disapproval:"Unhappily, the misguided woman died with a curse on you, great Caesar,on her treasonable lips."
"And this female hero finds her Homer in you!" cried Caesar. "We willspeak together again, my Quintus."
He raised a brimming cup to his lips and emptied it at a draught; then,setting it on the table with such violence that it rang, he exclaimed"Then you have brought me none of those whom I commanded you to capture?Even the feeble girl who had not quitted her father's house you allowedto be murdered by those coarse monsters! And you think I shall lookon you with favor? By this time to-morrow the gem-cutter and his sonAlexander are here before me, or by the head of my divine father you goto the wild beasts in the Circus."
"They will not eat such as he," observed old Julius Paulinus, and Caesarnodded approvingly. The Egyptian shuddered, for this imperial nod showedhim by how slender a thread his life hung.
In a flash he reflected whither he might fly if he should fail to findthis hated couple. If, after all, he should discover Melissa alive, somuch the better. Then, he might have been mistaken in identifying thebody; some slave girl might have stolen the bracelet and put it onbefore the house was burned down. He knew for a fact that the charredcorpse of which he had spoken was that of a street wench who hadrushed among the foremost into the house of the much-envied imperialfavorite--the traitress--and had met her death in the spreading flames.
Zminis had but a moment to rack his inventive and prudent brain, but healready had thought of something which might perhaps influence Caesar inhis favor. Of all the Alexandrians, the members of the Museum were thosewhom Caracalla hated most. He had been particularly enjoined not tospare one of them; and in the course of the ride which Caesar, attendedby the armed troopers of Arsinoe, had taken through the streetsstreaming with blood, he had stayed longest gazing at the heap ofcorpses in the court-yard of the Museum. In the portico, a colonnadecopied from the Stoa at Athens, whither a dozen or so of thephilosophers had fled when attacked, he had even stabbed several withhis own hand. The blood on the sword which Caracalla had dedicated toSerapis had been shed at the Museum.
The Egyptian had himself led the massacre here, and had seen that it wasthoroughly effectual. The mention of those slaughtered hair-splittersmust, if anything, be likely to mitigate Caesar's wrath; so no soonerhad the applause died away with which the proconsul's jest at hisexpense had been received, than Zminis began to give his report of thegreat massacre in the Museum. He could boast of having spared scarcelyone of the empty word-pickers with whom the epigrams against Caesarand his mother had originated. Teachers and pupils, even the domesticofficials, had been overtaken by the insulted sovereign's vengeance.Nothing was left but the stones of that great institution, which hadindeed long outlived its fame. The Numidians who had helped in thework had been drunk with blood, and had forced their way even into thephysician's lecture-rooms and the hospital adjoining. There, too, theyhad given no quarter; and among the sufferers who had been carriedthither to be healed they had found Tarautas, the wounded gladiator. ANumidian, the youngest of the legion, a beardless youth, had pinned theterrible conqueror of lions and men to the bed with his spear, andthen, with the same weapon, had released at least a dozen of hisfellow-sufferers from their pain.
As he told his story the Egyptian stood staring into vacancy, as thoughhe saw it all, and the whites of his eyeballs gleamed more hideouslythan ever out of his swarthy face. The lean, sallow wretch stoodbefore Caesar like a talking corpse, and did not observe the effect hisnarrative of the gladiator's death was producing. But he soon found out.While he was yet speaking, Caracalla, leaning on the table by his couchwith both hands, fixed his eyes on his face, without a word.
Then he suddenly sprang up, and, beside himself with rage, heinterrupted the terrified Egyptian and railed at him furiously:
"My Tarautas, who had so narrowly escaped death! The bravest hero of hiskind basely murdered on his sick-bed, by a barbarian, a beardless boy!And you, you loathsome jackal, could allow it? This deed--and you knowit, villain--will be set down to my score. It will be brought up againstme to the end of my days in Rome, in the provinces, everywhere. I shallbe cursed for your crime wherever there is a human heart to throb andfeel, and a human tongue to speak. And I--when did I ever order you toslake your thirst for blood in that of the sick and suffering? Never! Icould never have done such a thing! I even told you to spare the womenand helpless slaves. You are all witnesses, But you all hear me--I willpunish the murderer of the wretched sick! I will avenge you, foullymurdered, brave, noble Tarautas!--Here, lictors! Bind him--away with himto the Circus with the criminals thrown to the wild beasts! He allowedthe girl whose life I bade him spare to be burned to death before hiseyes, and the hapless sick were slain at his command by a beardlessboy!--And Tarautas! I valued him as I do all who are superior to theirkind; I cared for him. He was wounded for our entertainment, my friends.Poor fellow--poor, brave Tarautas!"
He here broke into loud sobs, and it was so unheard-of, soincomprehensible a thing that this man should weep who, even at hisfather's death had not shed a tear, that Julius Paulinus himself heldhis mocking tongue.
The rest of the spectators also kept anxious and uneasy silence whilethe lictors bound Zminis's hands, and, in spite of his attempts to raisehis voice once more in self-defense, dragged him away and thrust him outacross the threshold of the dining-hall. The door closed behind him,and no applause followed, though every one approved of the Egyptian'scondemnation, for Caracalla was
still weeping.
Was it possible that these tears could be shed for sick people whomhe did not know, and for the coarse gladiator, the butcher of men andbeasts, who had had nothing to give Caesar but a few hours of excitementat the intoxicating performances in the arena? So it must be; for fromtime to time Caracalla moaned softly, "Those unhappy sick!" or "PoorTarautas!"
And, indeed, at this moment Caracalla himself could not have saidwhom he was lamenting. He had in the Circus staked his life on that ofTarautas, and when he shed tears over his memory it was certainlyless for the gladiator's sake than over the approaching end of hisown existence, to which he looked forward in consequence of Tarautas'sdeath. But he had often been near the gates of Hades in the battle-fieldwith calm indifference; and now, while he thus bewailed the sick andTarautas with bitter lamentations, in his mind he saw no sick-bed, nor,indeed, the stunted form of the braggart hero of the arena, but theslender, graceful figure of a sweet girl, and a blackened, charred armon which glittered a golden armlet.
That woman! Treacherous, shameless, but how lovely and beloved! Thatwoman, under his eyes, as it were, was swept out of the land of theliving; and with her, with Melissa, the only girl for whom his heart hadever throbbed faster, the miracle-worker who had possessed the uniquepower of exorcising his torments, whose love--for so he still chose tobelieve, though he had always refused her petitions that he would showmercy--whose love would have given him strength to become a benefactorto all mankind, a second Trajan or Titus. He had quite forgotten thathe had intended her to meet a disgraceful end in the arena under fearfultorments, if she had been brought to him a prisoner. He felt as thoughthe fate of Roxana, with whom his most cherished dream had perished, hadquite broken his heart; and it was Melissa whom he really bewailed, withthe gladiator's name on his lips and the jewel before his eyes which hadbeen his gift, and which she had worn on her arm even in death. But heere long controlled this display of feeling, ashamed to shed tears forher who had cheated him and who had fled from his love. Only oncemore did he sob aloud. Then he raised himself, and while holding hishandkerchief to his eyes he addressed the company with theatricalpathos:
"Yes, my friends, tell whom you will that you have seen Bassianus weep;but add that his tears flowed from grief at the necessity for punishingso many of his subjects with such rigor. Say, too, that Caesar wept withpity and indignation. For what good man would not be moved to sorrowat seeing the sick and wounded thus maltreated? What humane heart couldrefrain from loud lamentations at the sight of barbarity which is notwithheld from laying a murderous hand even on the sacred anguish of thesick and wounded? Defend me, then, against those Romans who may shrugtheir shoulders over the weakness of a weeping Caesar--the Terrible. Myoffice demands severity; and yet, my friends, I am not ashamed of thesetears."
With this he took leave of his guests and retired to rest, and thosewho remained were soon agreed that every word of this speech, as wellas Caesar's tears, were rank hypocrisy. The mime Theocritus admiredhis sovereign in all sincerity, for how rarely could even the greatestactors succeed in forcing from their eyes, by sheer determination, aflood of real, warm tears--he had seen them flow. As Caesar quitted theroom, his hand on the lion's mane, the praetor Priscillianus whisperedto Cilo:
"Your disciple has been taking lessons here of the weeping crocodile."
.........................
Out on the great square the soldiers were resting after the day's bloodywork. They had lighted large fires in front of the most sacred sanctuaryof a great city, as though they were in the open field. Round each ofthese, foot and horse soldiers lay or squatted on the ground, accordingto their companies; and over the wine allowed them by Caesar they toldeach other the hideous experiences of the day, which even those who hadgrown rich by it could not think of without disgust. Gold and silvercups, the plunder of the city, circulated round those camp-fires and thejuice of the vine was poured into them out of jugs of precious metal.Tongues were wagging fast, for, though there was indeed but one opinionas to what had been done, there were mercenaries enough and ambitiouspretenders who could dare to defend it. Every word might reach thesovereign's ears, and the day might bring promotion as well as gold andbooty. Even the calmest were still in some excitement over the massacrethey had helped in; the plunder was discussed, and barter and exchangewere eagerly carried on.
As Caracalla passed the balcony he stepped out for a moment, followedby the lamp-bearers, to thank his faithful warriors for the valor andobedience they had shown this day. The traitorous Alexandrians had nowmet their deserts. The greater the plunder his dear brethren in armscould win, the better he would be pleased. This speech was hailed witha shout of glee drowning his words; but Caracalla had heard his dearlybought troops cheer him with greater zeal and vigor. There were herewhole groups of men who did not join at all, or hardly opened theirmouths. And his ear was sharp.
What cause could they have for dissatisfaction after such splendidbooty, although they did not yet know that a war with the Parthians wasin prospect?
He must know; but not to-day. They were to be depended on, he felt sure,for they were those to whom he was most liberal, and he had taken carethat there should be no one in the empire whose means equaled his own.But that they should be so lukewarm annoyed him. To-day, of all days, anenthusiastic roar of acclamations would have been peculiarly gratifying.They ought to have known it; and he went to his bedroom in silent anger.There his freedman Epagathos was waiting for him, with Adventus and hislearned Indian body slave Arjuna. The Indian never spoke unless he wasspoken to, and the two others took good care not to address their lord.So silence reigned in the spacious room while the Indian undressedCaracalla. Caesar was wont to say that this man's hands were matchlessfor lightness and delicacy of touch, but to-day they trembled as helifted the laurel wreath from Caesar's head and unbuckled the paddedbreast plate. The events of the day had shaken this man's soul to thefoundations. In his Eastern home he had been taught from his infancyto respect life even in beasts, living exclusively on vegetables, andholding all blood in abhorrence. He now felt the deepest loathing of allabout him; and a passionate longing for the peaceful and pure home amongsages, from which he had been snatched as a boy, came over him withincreasing vehemence. There was nothing here but what it defiled him tohandle, and his fingers shrank involuntarily from their task, asduty compelled him to touch the limbs of a man who, to his fancy, wasdripping with human blood, and who was as much accursed by gods and menas though he were a leper.
Arjuna made haste that he might escape from the presence of the horribleman, and Caesar took no heed either of the pallor of his handsome brownface or the trembling of his slender fingers, for a crowd of thoughtsmade him blind and deaf to all that was going on around him. Theyreverted first to the events of the day; but as the Indian removedthe warm surcoat, the night breeze blew coldly into the room, and heshivered. Was it the spirit of the slain Tarautas which had floated inat the open window? The cold breath which fanned his cheek was certainlyno mere draught. It was exactly like a human sigh, only it was coldinstead of warm. If it proceeded from the ghost of the dead gladiator hemust be quite close to him. And the fancy gained reality in his mind; hesaw a floating human form which beckoned him and softly laid a cold handon his shoulder.
He, Caesar, had linked his fate to that of the gladiator, and nowTarautas had come to warn him. But Caracalla had no mind to follow him;he forbade the apparition with a loud cry of "Away!" At this the Indianstarted, and though he could scarcely utter the words, he besoughtCaesar to be seated that he might take off his laced shoes; and thenCaracalla perceived that it was an illusion that had terrified him, andhe shrugged his shoulders, somewhat ashamed. While the slave was busy hewiped his damp brow, saying to himself with a proud smile that of coursespirits never appeared in broad light and when others were present.
At last he dismissed the Indian and lay down. His head was burning, andhis heart beat too violently for sleep. At his bidding Epagathos andAdventus followed th
e Indian into the adjoining room after extinguishingthe lamp... Caracalla was alone in the dark. Awaiting sleep, hestretched himself at full length, but he remained as wide awake as byday. And still he could not help thinking of the immediate past. Evenhis enemies could not deny that it was his duty as a man and an emperorto inflict the severest punishment on this town, and to make it feel hisavenging hand; and yet he was beginning to be aware of the ruthlessnessof his commands. He would have been glad to talk it all over with someone else. But Philostratus, the only man who understood him, was out ofreach; he had sent him to his mother. And for what purpose? To tell herthat he, Caesar, had found a wife after his own heart, and to win herfavor and consent. At this thought the blood surged up in him with rageand shame. Even before they were wed his chosen bride had been false tohim; she had fled from his embraces, as he now knew, to death, never toreturn.
He would gladly have sent a galley in pursuit to bring Philostratus backagain; but the vessel in which the philosopher had embarked was one ofthe swiftest in the imperial fleet, and it had already so long a startthat to overtake it would be almost impossible. So within a few daysPhilostratus would meet his mother; he, if any one, could describeMelissa's beauty in the most glowing colors, and that he would do so tothe empress, his great friend, was beyond a doubt. But the haughtyJulia would scarcely be inclined to accept the gem-cutter's child for adaughter; indeed, she did not wish that he should ever marry again.
But what was he to her? Her heart was given to the infant son ofher niece Mammaea;--[The third Caesar after Caracalla, AlexanderSeverus]--in him she discovered every gift and virtue. What joy therewould be among the women of Julia's train when it was known thatCaesar's chosen bride had disdained him, and, in him, the very purple.But that joy would not be of long duration, for the news of thepunishment by death of a hundred thousand Alexandrians would, he knew,fall like a lash on the women. He fancied he could hear their howls andwailing, and see the horror of Philostratus, and how he would join thewomen in bemoaning the horrible deed! He, the philosopher, would perhapsbe really grieved; aye, and if he had been at his side this morningeverything might perhaps have been different. But the deed was done, andnow he must take the consequences.
That the better sort would avoid him after such an act wasself-evident--they had already refused to eat with him. On the otherhand, it had brought nearer to him the favorites whom he had attractedto his person. Theocritus and Pandion, Antigonus and Epagathos, thepriest of Alexander, who at Rome was overwhelmed with debt, and who inEgypt had become a rich man again, would cling to him more closely.
"Base wretches!" he muttered to himself.
If only Philostratus would come back to him! But he scarcely daredhope it. The evil took so much more care for their own well-being andmultiplication than the good. If one of the righteous fell away, allthe others forthwith turned their backs on him; and when the penitentdesired to return to the fold, the immaculate repelled or avoided him.But the wicked could always find the fallen man at once, and would clingto him and hinder him from returning. Their ranks were always opento him, however closely he might formerly have been attached to thevirtuous. To live in exclusive intercourse with these reprobates was anodious thought. He could compel whom he chose to live with him; but ofwhat use were silent and reluctant companions? And whose fault was itthat he had sent away Philostratus, the best of them all? Hers--thefaithless traitoress, from whom he had looked for peace and joy, who haddeclared that she felt herself bound to him, the trickster in whom hehad believed he saw Roxana--But she was no more. On the table by hisbed, among his own jewels, lay the golden serpent he had given her--hefancied he could see it in the dark--and she had worn it even in death.He shuddered; he felt as though a woman's arm, all black and charred,was stretched out to him in the night, and the golden snake uncurledfrom it and reached forth as though to bite him.
He shivered, and hid his head under the coverlet; but, ashamed and vexedat his own foolish weakness, he soon emerged from the stifling darkness,and an inward voice scornfully asked him whether he still believed thatthe soul of the great Macedonian inhabited his body. There was an endof this proud conviction. He had no more connection with Alexander thanMelissa had with Roxana, whom she resembled.
The blood seethed hotly in his veins; to live on these terms seemed tohim impossible.
As soon as it was day it must surely be seen that he was very seriouslyill. The spirit of Tarautas would again appear to him--and not merely asa vaporous illusion--and put an end to his utter misery.
But he felt his own pulse; it beat no more quickly than usual. He had nofever, and yet he must be ill, very ill. And again he flushed so hotlythat he felt as if he should choke. Breathing hard, he sat up to callhis physician. Then he observed a light through the half-closed door ofthe adjoining room. He heard voices--those of Adventus and the Indian.
Arjuna was generally so silent that Philostratus had vainly endeavoredto discover from him any particulars as to the doctrine of the Brahmans,among whom Apollonius of Tyana declared that he had found the highestwisdom, or concerning the manners of his people. And yet the Indian wasa man of learning, and could even read the manuscripts of his country.The Parthian ambassador had expressly dwelt on this when he deliveredArjuna to Caesar as a gift from his king. But Arjuna had never favoredany of these strangers with his confidence. Only with old Adventus didhe ever hold conversation, for the chamberlain took care that he shouldbe supplied with the vegetables and fruit on which he was accustomed tolive--for meat never passed his lips; and now he was talking with theold man, and Caracalla sat up and laid his hand to his ear.
The Indian was absorbed in the study of a bookroll in his own tongue,which he carried about him. "What are you reading?" asked Adventus.
"A book," replied Arjuna, "from which a man may learn what will becomeof you and me, and all these slaughtered victims, after death."
"Who can know that?" said the old man with a sigh; and Arjuna repliedvery positively:
"It is written here, and there is no doubt about it. Will you hear it?"
"Certainly," said Adventus eagerly, and the Indian began translating outof his book:
"When a man dies his various parts go whither they belong. His voicegoes to the fire, his breath to the winds, his eyes to the sun, hisspirit to the moon, his hearing becomes one with space, his body goes tothe earth, his soul is absorbed into ether, his hairs become plants, thehair of his head goes to crown the trees, his blood returns to water.Thus, every portion of a man is restored to that portion of the universeto which it belongs; and of himself, his own essence, nothing remainsbut one part what that is called is a great secret."
Caracalla was listening intently. This discourse attracted him.
He, like the other Caesars, must after his death be deified by thesenate; but he felt convinced, for his part, that the Olympianswould never count him as one of themselves. At the same time he wasphilosopher enough to understand that no existing thing could ever ceaseto exist. The restoration of each part of his body to that portion ofthe universe to which it was akin, pleased his fancy. There was no placein the Indian's creed for the responsibility of the soul at the judgmentof the dead. Caesar was already on the point of asking the slave toreveal his secret, when Adventus prevented him by exclaiming:
"You may confide to me what will be left of me--unless, indeed, you meanthe worms which shall eat me and so proceed from me. It can not be goodfor much, at any rate, and I will tell no one."
To this Arjuna solemnly replied: "There is one thing which persists toall eternity and can never be lost in all the ages of the universe, andthat is--the deed."
"I know that," replied the old man with an indifferent shrug; but theword struck Caesar like a thunder-bolt. He listened breathlessly to hearwhat more the Indian might say; but Arjuna, who regarded it as sacrilegeto waste the highest lore on one unworthy of it, went on reading tohimself, and Adventus stretched himself out to sleep.
All was silent in and about the sleeping-room, and
the fearful words,"the deed," still rang in the ears of the man who had just committed themost monstrous of all atrocities. He could not get rid of the hauntingwords; all the ill he had done from his childhood returned to him infancy, and seemed heaped up to form a mountain which weighed on him likean incubus.
The deed!
His, too, must live on, and with it his name, cursed and hated to thelatest generations of men. The souls of the slain would have carriedthe news of the deeds he had done even to Hades; and if Tarautas were tocome and fetch him away, he would be met below by legions of indignantshades--a hundred thousand! And at their head his stern father, and theother worthy men who had ruled Rome with wisdom and honor, would shoutin his face: "A hundred thousand times a murderer! robber of the state!destroyer of the army!" and drag him before the judgment-seat; andbefore judgment could be pronounced the hundred thousand, led by thenoblest of all his victims, the good Papinian, would rush upon him andtear him limb from limb.
Dozing as he lay, he felt cold, ghostly hands on his shoulder, on hishead, wherever the cold breath of the waning night could fan him throughthe open window; and with a loud cry he sprang out of bed as he fanciedhe felt a touch of the shadowy hand of Vindex. On hearing his voice,Adventus and the Indian hurried in, with Epagathos, who had even heardhis shriek in the farther room. They found him bathed in a sweat ofhorror, and struggling for breath, his eyes fixed on vacancy; and thefreedman flew off to fetch the physician. When he came Caesar angrilydismissed him, for he felt no physical disorder. Without dressing, hewent to the window. It was about three hours before sunrise.
However, he gave orders that his bath should be prepared, and desired tobe dressed; then Macrinus and others were to be sent for. Sooner wouldhe step into boiling water than return to that bed of terror. Day, life,business must banish his terrors. But then, after the evening would comeanother night; and if the sufferings he had just gone through shouldrepeat themselves then, and in those to follow, he should lose his wits,and he would bless the spirit of Tarautas if it would but come to leadhim away to death.
But "the deed"! The Indian was right--that would survive him on earth,and mankind would unite in cursing him.
Was there yet time--was he yet capable of atoning for what was done bysome great and splendid deed? But the hundred thousand--
The number rose before him like a mountain, blotting out every schemehe tried to form as he went to his bath--taking his lion with him; hereveled in the warm water, and finally lay down to rest in cleanlinen wrappers. No one had dared to speak to him. His aspect was toothreatening.
In a room adjoining the bath-room he had breakfast served him. It was,as usual, a simple meal, and yet he could only swallow a few mouthfuls,for everything had a bitter taste. The praetorian prefect was roused,and Caesar was glad to see him, for it was in attending to affairs thathe most easily forgot what weighed upon him. The more serious theywere, the better, and Macrinus looked as if there was something of graveimportance to be settled.
Caracalla's first question was with reference to the Parthianambassadors. They had, in fact, departed; now he must prepare for war.Caesar was eager to decide at once on the destination of each legion,and to call the legates together to a council of war; but Macrinuswas not so prompt and ready as usual on such occasions. He had thatto communicate which, as he knew, would to Caesar take the head of allelse. If it should prove true, it must withdraw him altogether from theaffairs of government; and this was what Macrinus aimed at when, beforesummoning the legates, he observed with a show of reluctance that Caesarwould be wroth with him if, for the sake of a council of war, he were todefer a report which had just reached his ears.
"Business first!" cried Caracalla, with decisive prohibition.
"As you will. I thought only of what I was told by an official of thistemple, that the gem-cutter's daughter--you know the girl--is stillalive--"
But he got no further, for Caesar sprang to his feet, and desired tohear more of this.
Macrinus proceeded to relate that a slaughterer in the court ofsacrifice had told him that Melissa had been seen last evening, andwas somewhere in the Serapeum. More than this the prefect knew not, andCaesar forthwith dismissed him to make further inquiry before he himselfshould take steps to prove the truth of the report.
Then he paced the room with revived energy. His eye sparkled, and,breathing fast, he strove to reduce the storm of schemes, plans, andhopes which surged up within him to some sort of order. He must punishthe fugitive--but yet more surely he would never again let her out ofhis sight. But if only he could first have her cast to the wild beasts,and then bring her to life again, crown her with the imperial diadem,and load her with every gift that power and wealth could procure! Hewould read every wish in her eyes, if only she would once more layher hand on his forehead, charm away his pain, and bring sleep to hishorror-stricken bed. He had done nothing to vex her; nay, every petitionshe had urged--But suddenly the image rose before him of old Vindex andhis nephew, whom he had sent to execution in spite of her intercession;and again the awful word, "the deed," rang in his inward ear. Were thesehideous thoughts to haunt him even by day?
No, no! In his waking hours there was much to be done which might givehim the strength to dissipate them.
The kitchen-steward was by this time in attendance; but what didCaracalla care for dainties to tickle his palate now that he had ahope of seeing Melissa once more? With perfect indifference he left thecatering to the skillful and inventive cook; and hardly had he retiredwhen Macrinus returned.
The slaughterer had acquired his information through a comrade, who saidthat he had twice caught sight of Melissa at the window of the chambersof mystery in the upper story of the Serapeum, yesterday afternoon. Hehad hoped to win the reward which was offered for the recovery of thefugitive, and had promised his colleague half the money if he would helphim to capture the maiden. But just at sunset, hearing that the massacrewas ended, the man had incautiously gone out into the town, where he hadbeen slain by a drunken solder of the Scythian legion. The hapless man'sbody had been found, but Macrinus's informant had assured him that hecould entirely rely on the report of his unfortunate colleague, who wasa sober and truthful man, as the chief augur would testify.
This was enough for Caracalla. Macrinus was at once to go for thehigh-priest, and to take care that he took no further steps to concealMelissa. The slaughterer had ever since daybreak kept secret watch onall the doors of the Serapeum, aided by his comrades, who were to sharein the reward, and especially on the stairway leading from the groundfloor up to the mystic's galleries.
The prefect at once obeyed the despot's command. On the threshold he metthe kitchen-steward returning to submit his list of dishes for Caesar'sapproval.
He found Caracalla in an altered mood, rejuvenescent and in the highestspirits. After hastily agreeing to the day's bill of fare, he asked thesteward in what part of the building the chambers of mystery were; andwhen he learned that the stairs leading up to them began close to thekitchens, which had been arranged for Caesar's convenience under thetemple laboratory, Caracalla declared in a condescending tone that hewould go to look round the scene of the cook's labors. And the lionshould come too, to return thanks for the good meat which was brought tohim so regularly.
The head cook, rejoiced at the unwonted graciousness of a master whosewrath had often fallen on him, led the way to his kitchen hearth. Thishad been constructed in a large hall, originally the largest of thelaboratories, where incense was prepared for the sanctuary and medicinesconcocted for the sick in the temple hospital. There were smallerhalls and rooms adjoining, where at this moment some priests were busypreparing kyphi and mixing drugs.
The steward, proud of Caesar's promised visit, announced to hissubordinates the honor they might expect, and he then went to the doorof the small laboratory to tell the old pastophoros who was employedthere, and who had done him many a good turn, that if he wished to seethe emperor he had only to open the door leading to the staircase. Hewas ab
out to visit the mystic chambers with his much-talked-of lion. Noone need be afraid of the beast; it was quite tame, and Caesar loved itas a son.
At this the old drug-pounder muttered some reply, which sounded morelike a curse than the expected thanks, and the steward regretted havingcompared the lion to a son in this man's presence, for the pastophoroswore a mourning garment, and two promising sons had been snatched fromhim, slain yesterday with the other youths in the stadium.
But the cook soon forgot the old man's ill-humor; he had to clear hissubordinates out of the way as quickly as possible and prepare for hisillustrious visitor. As he bustled around, here, there, and everywhere,the pastophoros entered the kitchen and begged for a piece of mutton.This was granted him by a hasty sign toward a freshly slaughtered sheep,and the old man busied himself for some time behind the steward'sback. At last he had cut off what he wanted, and gazed with singulartenderness at the piece of red, veinless meat. On returning to hislaboratory, he hastily bolted himself in, and when he came out again afew minutes later his calm, wrinkled old face had a malignant andevil look. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking about himcautiously; then he flew up the steps with the agility of youth, and ata turn in the stairs he stuck the piece of meat close to the foot of thebalustrade.
He returned as nimbly as he had gone, cast a sorrowful glance throughthe open laboratory window at the arena where all that had graced hislife lay dead, and passed his hand over his tearful face. At last hereturned to his task, but he was less able to do it than before. It waswith a trembling hand that he weighed out the juniper berries and cedarresin, and he listened all the time with bated breath.
Presently there was a stir on the stairs, and the kitchen slaves shoutedthat Caesar was coming. So he went out of the laboratory, which wasbehind the stairs, to see what was going forward, and a turnspit at oncemade way for the old man so as not to hinder his view.
Was that little young man, mounting the steps so gayly, with thehigh-priest at his side and his suite at his heels, the dreadful monsterwho had murdered his noble sons? He had pictured the dreadful tyrantquite differently. Now Caesar was laughing, and the tall man next himmade some light and ready reply--the head cook said it was the Romanpriest of Alexander, who was not on good terms with Timotheus. Couldthey be laughing at the high-priest? Never, in all the years he hadknown him, had he seen Timotheus so pale and dejected.
The high-priest had indeed good cause for anxiety, for he suspected whoit was that Caesar hoped to find in the mystic rooms, and feared thathis wife might, in fact, have Melissa in hiding in that part of thebuilding to which he was now leading the way. After Macrinus had cometo fetch him he had had no opportunity of inquiring, for the prefecthad not quitted him for a moment, and Euryale was in the town busy withother women in seeking out and nursing such of the wounded as had beenfound alive among the dead.
Caesar triumphed in the changed, gloomy, and depressed demeanor of aman usually so self-possessed; for he fancied that it betrayed someknowledge on the part of Timotheus of Melissa's hiding-place; and hecould jest with the priest of Alexander and his favorite Theokritus andthe other friends who attended him, while he ignored the high-priest'spresence and never even alluded to Melissa.
Hardly had they gone past the old man when, just as the kitchen slaveswere shouting "Hail, Caesar!" the lady Euryale, as pale as death,hurried in, and with a trembling voice inquired whither her husband wasconducting the emperor.
She had turned back when half way on her road, in obedience to theimpulse of her heart, which prompted her, before she went on herSamaritan's errand, to visit Melissa in her hiding-place, and let hersee the face of a friend at the beginning of a new, lonely, and anxiousday. On hearing the reply which was readily given, her knees trembledbeneath her, and the steward, who saw her totter, supported her and ledher into the laboratory, where essences and strong waters soon restoredher to consciousness. Euryale had known the old pastophoros a long time,and, noticing his mourning garb, she asked sympathetically: "And you,too, are bereft?"
"Of both," was the answer. "You were always so good to them--Slaughteredlike beasts for sacrifice--down there in the stadium," and tears flowedfast down the old man's furrowed cheeks. The lady uplifted her hands asthough calling on Heaven to avenge this outrageous crime; at the sameinstant a loud howl of pain was heard from above, and a great confusionof men's voices.
Euryale was beside herself with fear. If they had found Melissa in herroom her husband's fate was sealed, and she was guilty of his doom.But they could scarcely yet have opened the chambers, and the girl wasclever and nimble, and might perhaps escape in time if she heard the menapproaching. She eagerly flew to the window. She could see below her thestone which Melissa must move to get out; but between the wall andthe stadium the street was crowded, and at every door of the Serapeumlictors were posted, even at that stone door known only to theinitiated, with the temple slaughterers and other servants who seemedall to be on guard. If Melissa were to come out now she would be seized,and it must become known who had shown her the way into the hiding-placethat had sheltered her.
At this moment Theokritus came leaping down the stairs, crying out toher: "The lion--a physician--where shall I find a leech?"
The matron pointed to the old man, who was one of the medical studentsof the sanctuary, and the favorite shouted out to him, "Come up!" andthen rushed on, paying no heed to Euryale's inquiry for Melissa; butthe old man laughed scornfully and shouted after him, "I am nobeast-healer."
Then, turning to the lady, he added:
"I am sorry for the lion. You know me, lady. I could never tillyesterday bear to see a fly hurt. But this brute! It was as a son tothat bloodhound, and he shall feel for once something to grieve him.The lion has had his portion. No physician in the world can bring him tolife again."
He bent his head and returned to his laboratory; but the matronunderstood that this kind, peaceable man, in spite of his white hair,had become a poisoner, and that the splendid, guiltless beast owed itsdeath to him. She shuddered. Wherever this unblest man went, goodturned to evil; terror, suffering, and death took the place of peace,happiness, and life. He had forced her even into the sin of disobedienceto her husband and master. But now her secret hiding of Melissa againsthis will would be avenged. He and she alike would probably pay for thedeed with their life; for the murder of his lion would inevitably rouseCaesar's wildest passions.
Still, she knew that Caracalla respected her; for her sake, perhaps, hewould spare her husband. But Melissa? What would her fate be if she weredragged out of her hiding-place?--and she must be discovered! He hadthreatened to cast her to the beasts; and ought she not to prefereven that fearful fate to forgiveness and a fresh outburst of Caesar'spassion?
Pale and tearless, but shaken with alarms, she bent over the balustradeof the stairs and murmured a prayer commending herself, her husband, andMelissa to God. Then she hastened up the steps. The great doors leadingto the chambers of mystery stood wide open, and the first person she metwas her husband.
"You here?" said he in an undertone. "You may thank the gods that yourkind heart did not betray you into hiding the girl here. I trembled forher and for ourselves. But there is not a sign of her; neither here noron the secret stair. What a morning--and what a day must follow! Therelies Caesar's lion. If his suspicion that it has been poisoned should beproved true, woe to this luckless city, woe to us all!"
And Caesar's aspect justified the worst anticipations. He had thrownhimself on the floor by the side of his dead favorite, hiding his facein the lion's noble mane, with strange, quavering wailing. Then heraised the brute's heavy head and kissed his dead eyes, and as itslipped from his hand and fell on the floor, he started to his feet,shaking his fist, and exclaiming:
"Yes, you have poisoned him! Bring the miscreant here, or you shallfollow him!"
Macrinus assured him that if indeed some basest of base wretches haddared to destroy the life of this splendid and faithful king of beasts,the murderer should infallib
ly be found. But Caracalla screamed in hisface:
"Found? Dare you speak of finding? Have you even brought me the girl whowas hidden here? Have you found her? Where is she? She was seen here andshe must be here!"
And he hurried from room to room in undignified haste, like a slavehunting for some lost treasure of his master's, tearing open closets,peeping behind curtains and up chimneys, and snatching the clothes,behind which she might have hidden, from the pegs on which they hung. Heinsisted on seeing every secret door, and ran first down and then up thehidden stairs by which Melissa had in fact escaped.
In the great hall, where by this time physicians and courtiers hadgathered round the carcass of the lion, Caesar sank on to a seat, hisbrow damp with heat, and stared at the floor; while the leeches, who, asAlexandrians for the most part, were anxious not to rouse the despot'srage, assured him that to all appearance the lion, who had been highlyfed and getting little exercise, had died of a fit. The poison hadindeed worked more rapidly than any the imperial body physician wasacquainted with; and he, not less anxious to mollify the sovereign, borethem out in this opinion. But their diagnosis, though well meant, hadthe contrary effect to that they had intended. The prosecution andpunishment of a murderer would have given occupation to his revengefulspirit and have diverted his thoughts, and the capture of the criminalwould have pacified him; as it was, he could only regard the death ofthe lion as a fresh stroke of fate directed against himself. He satabsorbed in sullen gloom, muttering frantic curses, and haughtilydesired the high-priest to restore the offering he had wasted on a godwho was so malignant, and as hostile to him as all else in this city ofabomination.
He then rose, desired every one to stand back from where the lion lay,and gazed down at the beast for many minutes. And as he looked, hisexcited imagination showed him Melissa stroking the noble brute, and thelion lashing the ground with his tail when he heard the light step ofher little feet. He could hear the music of her voice when she spokecoaxingly to the lion; and then again he started off to search the roomsonce more, shouting her name, heedless of the bystanders, till Macrinusmade so bold as to assure him that the slaughterer's report must havebeen false. He must have mistaken some one else for Melissa, for itwas proved beyond a doubt that Melissa had been burned in her father'shouse.
At this Caesar looked the prefect in the face with glazed and wanderingeyes, and Macrinus started in horror as he suddenly shrieked, "The deed,the deed!" and struck his brow with his fist.
From that hour Caracalla had lost forever the power of distinguishingthe illusions which pursued him from reality.