Der Kaiser. English

  CHAPTER XI.

  In a perfectly dark spot by the wall of the widow's garden, stoodthe cynic philosopher who had met Antinous with so little courtesy,defending himself eagerly, but in low tones against the rebukes ofanother man, who, dressed, like himself in a ragged cloak and bearing abeggar's wallet, appeared to be one of the same kidney.

  "Do not deny," said the latter, "that you cling much to the Christians."

  "But hear me out," urged the other.

  "I need hear nothing, for I have seen you for the tenth time sneaking into one of their meetings."

  "And do I deny it? Do I not honestly confess that I seek truth whereverI may, where I see even a gleam of hope of finding it?"

  "Like the Egyptian who wanted to catch the miraculous fish, and at lastflung his hook into the sand."

  "The man acted very wisely."

  "What now!"

  "A marvel is not to be found just where everything else is. In huntingfor truth you must not be afraid of a bog."

  "And the Christian doctrine seems to be very much such a muddy thicket."

  "Call it so for aught I care."

  "Then beware lest you find yourself sticking in the morass."

  "I will take care of myself."

  "You said just now that there were decent folks among them."

  "A few no doubt. But the others! eternal gods! mere slaves, beggars,ruined handicraftstmen, common people, untaught and unphilosophicalbrains, and women, for the most part."

  "Avoid them then."

  "You ought to be the last to give me that advice."

  "What do you mean?"

  The other went close up to him and asked him in a whisper:

  "Why, where do you suppose I get the money with which I pay for our foodand lodging?"

  "So long as you do not steal it, it is all the same to me."

  "If I had no more, you would ask the question fast enough."

  "Certainly not, we strive after virtue and ought to do everything torender ourselves independent of nature and her cravings. But to besure she often asserts her rights--to return then: where do you get themoney?"

  "Why, it burns in the purses of the people in there. It is their dutyto give to the poor, and to tell the truth, their pleasure also; and soweek by week they give me a few drachmae for my suffering brother."

  "Bah! you are the only son of your father, and he is dead."

  "'All men are brethren' say the Christians, consequently I may call youmine without lying."

  "Join them then for aught I care," laughed the other. "How would itbe if I followed you among the Christians? Perhaps they would giveme weekly money too, for my suffering brother, and then we could havedouble meals."

  The cynics laughed loudly and parted; one went back into the city, theother into the garden belonging to the Christian widow.

  Arsinoe had entered here before the dishonest philosopher and had gonestraight to Hannah's house without being detained by the gate-keeper. Asshe got nearer to her destination, she tried more and more earnestly todevise some way in which she might inform her sister of all the dreadfulthings that had happened, and which she must learn sooner or later,without giving her too great a shock. Her dread was not much less thanher grief. As she reflected on the last few days and on all that hadoccurred, it almost seemed as though she herself had been the cause ofthe misfortunes of her family.

  On the way to see Selene she could shed no tears, but she could not helpsoftly moaning to herself now and then. A woman, who for some distancehad kept pace with her, thought she must be suffering some severe bodilypain, and when the girl passed her, she looked after her with sincerecompassion, the wailing of the desolate young creature had sounded sopiteous.

  True, midway, Arsinoe had suddenly stopped and had thought that insteadof going to Selene for advice, she would turn round and seek Pollux andask him to help her. The thought of her lover forced its way through allher sorrow and anxiety, through the reproaches she heaped upon herselfand the vague plans floating in the air which her brain--unaccustomed toany serious thought, vainly tried to sketch for the future. He was kind,and would certainly be ready to help her; but maidenly modesty heldher back from seeking him at so late an hour; besides, how could shediscover him or his parents?

  The place where her sister was she was now familiar with, and no onecould judge of their position better or give sounder counsel thanprudent Selene. So she had not turned round, but had hurried on to reachher destination as soon as possible; and now she was standing beforethe little house in the garden. Before opening the door she once moreconsidered in what way she could prepare Selene and tell her terriblenews, and, as all that happened stood vividly before her mind's eye, shebegan to weep once more.

  In front of her, and following her, men and veiled women, singly or incouples or in larger groups, passed into Paulina's garden. They camefrom workshops and writing-rooms, from humble houses in narrow lanes,and from the handsomest and largest in the main street. Each and all,from the wealthy merchant down to the slave who could not call thecoarse tunic or scanty apron that he wore, his own, walked gravely andwith a certain dignified reserve. All who met within that gate greetedeach other as friends; the master gave a brotherly kiss to the servant,the slave to his owner; for the congregation to which they all belongedwas as one body, animated and dwelt in by Christ, so that each memberwas esteemed as equal to the others however different their gifts ofbody or mind might be, or the worldly possessions with which theywere endowed. Before God and his Saviour the rich ship-owner or thegrey-haired sage stood no higher than the defenceless widow and theignorant slave crippled with blows. Still, the members of the communitysubmitted to those more implicitly than to these, for the specialtalents which graced certain superior Christians were gifts of gracefrom the Lord, readily acknowledged as such and, so far as theyconcerned the inner man, deemed worthy of honor.

  On Sunday, the day of the Resurrection of the Lord, all Christians,without exception, visited their place of assembly for divine worship.To-day, being the middle of the week, all who could or chose came to thelove-feast at Paulina's suburban house. She herself dwelt in the cityand she had placed the banqueting hall of her villa, which would holdmore than a hundred souls, at the disposal of her fellow Christians inthat quarter of the town. The regular service was held in the morning,but after the day's labor was ended the Christians met at one table tohave an evening meal in common, or--on other occasions to partake ofthe sacramental supper. After sunset the elders, deacons, anddeaconesses--most of whom, so long as it was light, had secular work toattend to--met to take counsel together.

  Paulina, the widow of Pudeus and sister of Pontius the architect, was awoman of considerable property and at the same time a prudent steward,who did not consider herself justified in seriously impairing her son'sinheritance. This son was residing at Smyrna as a partner in an uncle'sbusiness, and always avoided Alexandria, as he did not like his mother'sintercourse with the Christians. Paulina took the most anxious care notto make any inroads on the capital intended for him, and never allowedher hospitality to her fellow-believers to cost her any more than it didthe other wealthy members of the circle that met at her house. Therethe rich brought more than they needed for themselves and the poor werealways welcome; not feeling themselves oppressed by the benevolence theyprofited by, for they were often told that their entertainer was nota mortal, but the Saviour, who invited each one who followed himfaithfully to be his guest.

  The hour was approaching which would summon dame Hannah to join theassembly of her fellow Christians. She could not fail to appear, for shewas one of the deaconesses entrusted with the distribution of alms andthe care of the sick. She noiselessly made her preparations for going,carefully setting the lamp behind the water-pitcher so that it shouldnot dazzle Selene, and she desired Mary to be exact in administering themedicine to her patient. She knew that the girl had yesterday attemptedto make away with herself, and guessed the cause; but she asked noquestions and disturbed the poor child, who
slept a good deal or laydreaming with open eyes, as little as possible. The old physicianwondered at her sound constitution, for since her plunge into the waterthe fever had left her and even the injured foot was not much the worse.Hannah might now hope the best for Selene if no unforeseen contingencychecked her recovery. To prevent this the unfortunate girl was never tobe left alone, and Mary had gladly agreed with her friend to fill herplace whenever she was obliged to leave the house.

  The meeting of the elders and guardians had already begun when Hannahtook her tablets in her hand, on which was noted the distribution shehad made of the money entrusted to her during the last week. She greetedthe sick girl and Mary with a kindly look and whispered to the deformedgirl:

  "I will think of thee in my prayers thou faithful soul. There is somefood in the little cupboard--not much, for we must be sparing, the lastmedicine was so dear."

  In the little anteroom a lamp was burning which Mary had lighted asit began to grow dark, and the widow paused for a moment, consideringwhether she should not extinguish it to save the oil. She had taken upthe tongs that hung by it, and was about to put it out, when she hearda gentle tap at the house-door. Before she could enquire who it wasthat asked admission at so late an hour, the door was opened and Arsinoeentered the little hall. Her eyes were still full of tears and she hadgreat difficulty in finding words to return Hannah's greeting.

  "Why what ails you my child?" asked the Christian anxiously when by thedim light, she saw how tearful and sad the girl looked. Arsinoe was longbefore she could answer. At last she collected herself sufficiently tosob out amid her tears:

  "Oh dame Hannah! It is all over with us--my father, our poor father--"

  The widow guessed at the blow that bad fallen on the sisters and full ofanxiety on Selene's account she interrupted the weeping child saying:

  "Hush, hush my child-Selene must not hear you. Come out with me and thenyou can tell me all." Once outside the door Hannah put her arm roundArsinoe drew her towards her, kissed her forehead, and said:

  "Now speak and tell me every thing; think that I am your mother oryour sister. Poor Selene is still too weak to advise or help you. Takecourage. What happened to your poor father?"

  "Struck by apoplexy, dead--dead!" wept the girl. "Poor, dear littleorphan," said the widow in a husky voice and she clasped Arsinoe closelyin her arms. For some time she allowed the girl to weep silently on herbosom; then she spoke:

  "Give me your hand my daughter and tell me how it has all happened sosuddenly. Your father was quite well yesterday and now? Yes my girl lifeis a grave matter, you have to learn it while you are still young. Iknow you have six little brothers and sisters and perhaps you maysoon lack even the necessaries of life. But that is no disgrace; I amcertainly even poorer than you and yet, by God's help, I hope to be ableto advise you and perhaps even to assist you. Every thing that I canpossibly do shall be done, but first I must know how matters stand withyou and what you need."

  There was so much kindness and consolation in the Christian's tones, somuch to revive hope that Arsinoe willingly complied with her demand andbegan her story.

  At first, to be sure, her pride shunned confessing how poor, howabsolutely destitute they were; but Hannah's questions soon brought thetruth to light; and when Arsinoe perceived that the widow understood themisfortunes of their house in their fullest extent, and that it would beunavailing to conceal how matters stood with her and the children, sheyielded to the growing impulse to relieve her soul by pouring out hergriefs and described frankly and without reserve the whole position ofthe family, to the good woman who listened with attention and sympathy.The widow asked about each child separately, and ended by enquiring who,in Arsinoe's absence, was left in charge of the little ones; and whenshe heard that the old slave-woman to whose care the children wereentrusted, was infirm and half-blind, she shook her head thoughtfully.

  "Here help is needed and at once," she said decidedly. "You must go backto the little ones presently. Your sister must not at present hear ofyour father's death; when your future lot is to some extent secure wewill tell her by degrees all that has occurred. Now come with me, it isby the Lord's guidance that you came here at the right moment."

  Hannah conducted Arsinoe to Paulina's villa, first into a small roomat the side of the entrance hall, where the deaconesses took off theirveils and their warm wraps in winter evenings. There the girl could bealone, and safe from inquisitive questionings which could not fail to bepainful to her. Hannah desired her to await her return, and then joinedher colleagues.

  In order to do so she had to pass through the room where the eldersand deacons were sitting in council. The bishop, who presided over theassembly, sat on a raised seat at the head of an oblong table, and onhis right hand and his left sat a number of elderly men, some of whomseemed to be of Jewish or Egyptian extraction but most of them wereGreeks. In these the lofty intellectual brow was conspicuous, in thosea bright, ecstatic expression particularly in the eyes. Hannah wentpast the assembly with a reverential greeting into the adjoining room inwhich the deaconesses sat waiting, for women were not admitted to joinor hear the deliberations of the elders. The bishop, a fine old manwith a full white beard; raised his kindly eyes as the door closed uponHannah, fixed them for a few moments on the tips of his fingers thathe had raised and then addressed the presbyter who had presented forbaptism several candidates who had been grounded during the past year inthe Christian faith and doctrine, as follows:

  "Most of the catechumens you have presented to me cling faithfully nodoubt to the Redeemer. They believe in Him and love Him. But have theyattained to that sanctification, that new birth in Christ, which alonecan justify us in admitting them through baptism among the lambs of ourGood Shepherd? Let us beware of the tainted sheep which may infect thewhole flock. Verily, in these latter years there has been no lack ofthem, and they have been received among us and have brought the name ofChristian into evil repute. Shall I give you an example? There was anEgyptian in Rhakotis; few seemed to strive so fervently as he for theremission of his sins. He could fast for many days, and yet no soonerwas he baptized than he broke into a goldsmith's shop. He was condemnedto death, and before his end he sent for me and confessed to me that informer years he had soiled his soul with many robberies and murders. Hehad hoped to win forgiveness of his sins by the act of baptism, the merewashing in water, not by repentance and a new birth to a pure and holylife; and he had gone on boldly in new sin because he confidently hopedthat he might again count on the unwearying mercy of the Saviour. Othersagain, who had been brought up in the practice of the ablutions whichhave to be performed by those who are initiated into the deeper secretsof the heathen mysteries, regarded baptism as an act of purification,a mystical process of happy augury, or at the best a figurativepurification of the soul, and crowded to receive it. Here, inAlexandria, the number of these deluded ones is especially great; forwhere could any superstition find a more favorable soil than in thisseat of philosophical half-culture, or over-culture; of the worshipof Serapis, of astrology, of societies of Mystics, of visionariesand exorcisers, and of incredulity--the twin-sister of credulity. Becautious then to hold back from baptism all those who regard it as apreserving charm or an act of good omen--remembering that the same waterwhich, sprinkled on sanctified hearts, leads them to holy living, bringsdeath to the unclean soul. It is your turn to speak, Irenaeus."

  "I only have to say," began the young Christian thus designated, "thatI have recently met among the catechumens with some who have attachedthemselves to us from the basest motives. I mean the idlers who are gladto receive our alms. Have you noticed here a cynic philosopher whosestarving brother we maintain? Our deacon Clemens has just ascertainedthat he is the only son of his father--"

  "We will investigate this matter more closely when we discuss thedistribution of alms," replied the bishop. "Here we have petitions fromseveral women who desire to have their children baptized; this questionwe cannot decide here; it must be referred to the next Synod. So fa
ras I am concerned, I should be inclined not to reject the prayer of themothers. Wherein does the utmost aim of the Christian life consist?It seems to me in being perfectly conformable to the example of theSaviour. And was not he a Man among men, a Youth among the young, aChild among children? Did not His existence lend sanctity to every age,and especially childhood? He commanded that little children should bebrought to Him, and He promised them the Kingdom of Heaven. Whereforethen should we exclude them and deny them baptism?"

  "I cannot share your views," replied a presbyter with a high foreheadand sunken eyes. "We ought no doubt to follow the Saviour, but those whotread in His steps should do so of their own free choice, out of lovefor Him, and after He has sanctified their souls. What is the sense of anew birth in a life that has scarcely begun.

  "Your discourse," replied the bishop, "only confirms my opinion thatthis question is one for a higher assembly. We will now close ourdiscussion of that point, and go on to the care of the poor. Call in thewomen, my good Justinius."

  The deaconesses came into the room and took seats at the lower end ofthe table, Paulina, the widow of Pudeus, taking her place opposite thebishop in the middle of the other women. She had learnt from Selene'skind nurse in what pressing difficulties the children of the deceasedsteward now found themselves, and that Hannah had promised to assistthem.

  The deacons first gave their reports of what their works had been amongthe poor; after them the women were allowed to speak. Paulina, a tall,slight woman with black hair faintly streaked with gray, drew from herdress, which was perfectly plain, but made of particularly soft, finewhite woollen stuff--a tablet that she placed before her, and slowlyraising her eyes and looking at the assembly she said:

  "Dame Hannah has a melancholy story to tell you, for which I crave yoursympathy. Will you be so good as to allow her to speak?"

  Paulina seemed to feel that she was the hostess to her brethren. Shelooked ill and suffering; a line of pain had settled about her lips, andthere were always dark shades under her eyes; still, there was somethingfirm and decisive in her voice, and her glance was anything rather thansoft and winning. After her commanding tones Hannah's tale sounded assoft as a song. She described the different natures of the two sistersas lovingly as though they were her own daughters, each in her ownway seemed to her so worthy of compassion, and she spoke with patheticlament of the unprotected, helpless orphans abandoned to misery, andamong them a pretty little blind boy. And she ended her speech bysaying:

  "The steward's second daughter--she is sixteen and so beautiful thatshe must be exposed to every temptation--has now the whole charge of thenourishment and care of her six young brothers and sisters. Ought weto withhold from them a protecting hand? No, so surely as we love theSaviour we ought not. You agree with me? Well then, do not let us delayour help. The second daughter of the deceased Keraunus is here, in thishouse; to-morrow early the children must all quit the palace, and now,while I am speaking, are at home alone and but ill tended."

  The Christian woman's good words fell on kindly soil, and the presbytersand deacons determined to recommend the congregation who should assembleat the love-feast to give their assistance to the steward's children.

  The elders had still much to discuss, so Hannah and Paulina were chargedwith the task of appealing to the hearts of the well-to-do membersof the congregation to provide for the orphans. The poor widow firstconducted her wealthy friend and hostess to the little room whereArsinoe was waiting with growing impatience. She looked paler than usualbut, in spite of her tear-reddened eyes which she kept fixed on theground, she was so lovely, so touchingly lovely, that the mere sightof her moved Paulina's heart. She had once had two children, an onlydaughter besides her son. The girl bad died in the spring-time of hermaidenhood, and Paulina thought of her at every hour of her life. It wasfor her sake that she had been baptized and devoted her existence to aseries of painful sacrifices. She strove with all her might to be a goodChristian--for surely she, the self-denying woman who had taken up thecross of her own free will, the suffering creature who loved stillnessand who had made her country-house, which she visited daily, a scene ofunrest, could not fail to win Heaven, and there she hoped to meet herinnocent child.

  Arsinoe reminded her of her Helena, who certainly had been far less fairthan the steward's lovely daughter, but whose image had assumed new andglorified forms in the mother's faithful heart. Since her son had lefthome for a foreign country she had often asked herself whether shemight not find some young creature to take into her home, to attach toherself, to bring up as a Christian, and to bring as an offering to herSaviour's feet.

  Her daughter had died a heathen, and nothing troubled Paulina so deeplyas that her soul was lost, and that her own struggling and strivingfor grace could not lead her to the goal beyond the grave. No sacrificeseemed too great to purchase her child's beatitude, and now, standingbefore Arsinoe and looking at her with deep emotion and admiration, shewas seized with an idea which swiftly ripened to resolve. She would winthis sweet soul for the Redeemer, and implore Him with ceaseless prayersto save her hapless child as a reward for the work of grace in Arsinoe'ssoul; and she felt as if she had signed the compact with the Redeemer,when, fully determined on this course, she went up to the girl and askedher:

  "You are quite forlorn, quite without relations?" Arsinoe bowed her headin assent, and Paulina went on:

  "And do you bear your loss with resignation?"

  "What is resignation?" asked the girl modestly. Hannah laid her hand onthe widow's arm and whispered:

  "She is a heathen."

  "I know it," said Paulina shortly, and then went on kindly butpositively:

  "You and yours have lost both parents and a home by your father's death.You shall find a new home in my house, with me; I ask nothing of you inreturn but your love."

  Arsinoe looked at the haughty lady in astonishment. She could notyet feel any impulse of affection towards her, and she did not as yetunderstand that what was required of her was the one gift which the bestwill, the most loving heart in the world, could not offer at a command.Paulina did not wait for her reply, but signed to Hannah to follow herto join the congregation now assembled at the evening meal.

  A quarter of an hour later the two women returned. The steward's orphanswere provided for. Two or three Christian families were ready andwilling to take in some of them, and many a kindly house-mother hadbegged to have the blind child; but in vain, for Hannah had claimed theright to bring up the hapless little boy in her own house, at any ratefor the present. She knew how Selene clung to him, and hoped by hispresence to be able to work powerfully on the crushed and chilled heartof the poor girl.

  Arsinoe did not contravene the arrangements of the two women. Shethanked them, indeed, for she felt that she once more stood on firmground, but she also was immediately aware that it would be strewnwith sharp stones. The thought of parting from her little brothers andsisters was terrible and cruel, and never left her mind for an instant,while, accompanied by Hannah in person, she made her way back toLochias.

  The next morning her kind friend appeared again and led her and thelittle troup to Paulina's town-house. The steward's creditors dividedhis little possessions; nothing but the chest of papyri followed thegirl to her new home. The hour in which the fondly-linked circle ofchildren was riven asunder, when one child was taken here and anotherthere, was the bitterest which Arsinoe had ever experienced or evercould experience through all the after years of her life.