Homo Sum — Complete

  CHAPTER IX.

  Miriam's ears had not betrayed her. While she was detained at supper,Hermas had opened the courtyard-gate; he came to bring the senatora noble young buck, that he had killed a few hours before, as athank-offering for the medicine to which his father owed his recovery.It would no doubt have been soon enough the next morning, but he couldfind no rest up on the mountain, and did not--and indeed did not careto--conceal from himself the fact, that the wish to give expression tohis gratitude attracted him down into the oasis far less than the hopeof seeing Sirona, and of hearing a word from her lips.

  Since their first meeting he had seen her several times, and had evenbeen into her house, when she had given him the wine for his father,and when he had taken back the empty flask. Once, as she was fillingthe bottle which he held, out of the large jar, her white fingers hadtouched his, and her enquiry whether he were afraid of her, or if not,why his hands which looked so strong should tremble so violently, dweltstill in his mind. The nearer he approached Petrus's house the morevehemently his heart beat; he stood still in front of the gate-way, totake breath, and to collect himself a little, for he felt that, agitatedas he was, he would find it difficult to utter any coherent words.

  At last he laid his hand on the latch and entered the yard. Thewatch-dogs already knew him, and only barked once as he stepped over thethreshold.

  He brought a gift in his hand, and he wanted to take nothing away, andyet he appeared to himself just like a thief as he looked round, firstat the main building lighted up by the moon, and then at the Gaul'sdwelling-house, which, veiled in darkness, stood up as a vaguesilhouette, and threw a broad dark shadow on the granite flags of thepavement, which was trodden to shining smoothness. There was not a soulto be seen, and the reek of the roast sheep told him that Petrus and hishousehold were assembled at supper.

  "I might come inopportunely on the feasters," said he to himself, as hethrew the buck over from his left to his right shoulder, and looked upat Sirona's window, which he knew only too well.

  It was not lighted up, but a whiter and paler something appeared withinits dark stone frame, and this something, attracted his gaze with anirresistible spell; it moved, and Sirona's greyhound set up a sharpbarking.

  It was she--it must be she! Her form rose before his fancy in all itsbrilliant beauty, and the idea flashed through his mind that she mustbe alone, for he had met her husband and the old slave woman among theworshippers of Mithras on their way to the mountain. The pious youth,who so lately had punished his flesh with the scourge to banishseductive dream-figures, had in these few days become quite another man.He would not leave the mountain, for his father's sake, but he was quitedetermined no longer to avoid the way of the world; nay, rather to seekit. He had abandoned the care of his father to the kindly Paulus, andhad wandered about among the rocks; there he had practised throwing thediscus, he had hunted the wild goats and beasts of prey, and from timeto time--but always with some timidity--he had gone down into the oasisto wander round the senator's house, and catch a glimpse of Sirona.

  Now that he knew that she was alone, he was irresistibly drawn to her.What he desired of her, he himself could not have said; and nothing wasclear to his mind beyond the wish to touch her fingers once more.

  Whether this were a sin or not, was all the same to him; the mostharmless play was called a sin, and every thought of the world for whichhe longed, and he was fully resolved to take the sin upon himself, ifonly he might attain his end. Sin after all was nothing but a phantomterror with which they frighten children, and the worthy Petrus hadassured him that he might be a man capable of great deeds. With afeeling that he was venturing on an unheard of act he went towardsSirona's window, and she at once recognized him as he stood in themoonlight.

  "Hermas!" he heard her say softly. He was seized with such violentterror that he stood as if spellbound, the goat slipped from hisshoulders, and he felt as if his heart had ceased to beat. And again thesweet woman's voice called, "Hermas, is it you? What brings you to us atsuch a late hour?"

  He stammered an incoherent answer, and "I do not understand; come alittle nearer." Involuntarily he stepped forward into the shadow of thehouse and close up to her window. She wore a white robe with wide, opensleeves, and her arms shone in the dim light as white as her garment.The greyhound barked again; she quieted it, and then asked Hermas howhis father was, and whether he needed some more wine. He repliedthat she was very kind, angelically kind, but that the sick man wasrecovering fast, and that she had already given him far too much.Neither of them said anything that might not have been heard byeverybody, and yet they whispered as if they were speaking of someforbidden thing.

  "Wait a moment," said Sirona, and she disappeared within the room, shesoon reappeared, and said solid and sadly, "I would ask you to come intothe house but Phoebicius has locked the door. I am quite alone, hold theflask so that I may fill it through the open window."

  With these words she leaned over with the large jar--she was strong, butthe wine-jar seemed to her heavier than on other occasions, and she saidwith a sigh, "The amphora is too heavy for me."

  He reached up to help her; again his fingers met hers, and again hefelt the ecstatic thrill which had haunted his memory day and night eversince he first had felt it. At this instant there was a sudden noise inthe house opposite; the slaves were coming out from supper. Sirona knewwhat was happening; she started and cried out, pointing to the senator'sdoor, "For all the gods' sake! they are coming out, and if they see youhere I am lost!"

  Hermas looked hastily round the court, and listened to the increasingnoise in the other house, then, perceiving that there was no possibleescape from the senator's people, who were close upon him, he criedout to Sirona in a commanding tone, "Stand back," and flung himself upthrough the window into the Gaul's apartment. At the same moment thedoor opposite opened, and the slaves streamed out into the yard.

  In front of them all was Miriam, who looked all round the widespace-expectant; seeking something, and disappointed. He was not there,and yet she had heard him come in; and the gate had not opened andclosed a second time, of that she was perfectly certain. Some of theslaves went to the stables, others went outside the gate into the streetto enjoy the coolness of the evening; they sat in groups on the ground,looking up at the stars, chattering or singing. Only the shepherdessremained in the court-yard seeking him on all sides, as if she werehunting for some lost trinket. She searched even behind the millstones,and in the dark sheds in which the stone-workers' tools were kept.

  Then she stood still a moment and clenched her hands; with a few lightbounds she sprang into the shadow of the Gaul's house. Just in frontof Sirona's window lay the steinbock; she hastily touched it with herslender naked toes, but quickly withdrew her foot with a shudder, forit had touched the beast's fresh wound, wet with its blood. She rapidlydrew the conclusion that: he had killed it, and had thrown it downhere, and that he could not be far off. Now she knew where he was inhiding-and she tried to laugh, for the pain she felt seemed too acuteand burning for tears to allay or cool it. But she did not wholly loseher power of reflection. "They are in the dark," thought she, "and theywould see me, if I crept under the window to listen; and yet I must knowwhat they are doing there together."

  She hastily turned her back on Sirona's house, slipped into the clearmoonlight, and after standing there for a few minutes, went intothe slaves' quarters. An instant after, she slipped out behind themillstones, and crept as cleverly and as silently as a snake along theground under the darkened base of the centurion's house, and lay closeunder Sirona's window.

  Her loudly beating heart made it difficult for even her sharp earsto hear, but though she could not gather all that he said, shedistinguished the sound of his voice; he was no longer in Sirona's room,but in the room that looked out on the street.

  Now she could venture to raise herself, and to look in at the openwindow; the door of communication between the two rooms was closed, buta streak of light showed her that in the farth
er room, which was thesitting-room, a lamp was burning.

  She had already put up her hand in order to hoist herself up into thedark room, when a gay laugh from Sirona fell upon her ear. The image ofher enemy rose up before her mind, brilliant and flooded with light ason that morning, when Hermas had stood just opposite, bewildered by herfascination. And now--now--he was actually lying at her feet, and sayingsweet flattering words to her, and he would speak to her of love, andstretch out his arm to clasp her--but she had laughed.

  Now she laughed again. Why was all so still again?

  Had she offered her rosy lips for a kiss? No doubt, no doubt. And Hermasdid not wrench himself from her white arms, as he had torn himself fromhers that noon by the spring-torn himself away never to return.

  Cold drops stood on her brow, she buried her hands in her thick, blackhair, and a loud cry escaped her--a cry like that of a tortured animal.A few minutes more and she had slipped through the stable and the gateby which they drove the cattle in; and no longer mistress of herself,was flying up the mountain to the grotto of Mithras to warn Phoebicius.

  The anchorite Gelasius saw from afar the figure of the girl flying upthe mountain in the moonlight, and her shadow flitting from stone tostone, and he threw himself on the ground, and signed a cross on hisbrow, for he thought he saw a goblin-form, one of the myriad gods ofthe heathen--an Oread pursued by a Satyr. Sirona had heard the girl'sshriek.

  "What was that?" she asked the youth, who stood before her in thefull-dress uniform of a Roman officer, as handsome as the young god ofwar, though awkward and unsoldierly in his movements.

  "An owl screamed--" replied Hermas. "My father must at last tell me fromwhat house we are descended, and I will go to Byzantium, the new Rome,and say to the emperor, 'Here am I, and I will fight for you among yourwarriors.'"

  "I like you so!" exclaimed Sirona.

  "If that is the truth," cried Hermas, "prove it to me! Let me once pressmy lips to your shining gold hair. You are beautiful, as sweet as aflower--as gay and bright as a bird, and yet as hard as our mountainrock. If you do not grant me one kiss, I shall long till I am sick andweak before I can get away from here, and prove my strength in battle."

  "And if I yield," laughed Sirona, "you will be wanting another andanother kiss, and at last not get away at all. No, no, my friend--I amthe wiser of us two. Now go into the dark room, I will look out and seewhether the people are gone in again, and whether you can get off unseenfrom the street window, for you have been here much too long already. Doyou hear? I command you."

  Hermas obeyed with a sigh; Sirona opened the shutter and looked out. Theslaves were coming back into the court, and she called out a friendlyword or two, which were answered with equal friendliness, for theGaulish lady, who never overlooked even the humblest, was dear to themall. She took in the night-air with deep-drawn breaths, and looked upcontentedly at the moon, for she was well content with herself.

  When Hermas had swung himself up into her room, she had started back inalarm; he had seized her hand and pressed his burning lips to her arm,and she let him do it, for she was overcome with strange bewilderment.

  Then she heard Dame Dorothea calling out, "Directly, directly, I willonly say good night first to the children." These simple words,uttered in Dorothea's voice, had a magical effect on the warm-heartedwoman--badly used and suspected as she was, and yet so well formed forhappiness, love and peace. When her husband had locked her in, takingeven her slave with him, at first she had raved, wept, meditated revengeand flight, and at last, quite broken down, had seated herself bythe window in silent thought of her beautiful home, her brothers andsisters, and the dark olive groves of Arelas.

  Then Hermas appeared. It had not escaped her that the young anchoritepassionately admired her, and she was not displeased, for she liked him,and the confusion with which he had been overcome at the sight of herflattered her and seemed to her doubly precious because she knew thatthe hermit in his sheepskin, on whom she had bestowed a gift of wine,was in fact a young man of distinguished rank. And how truly to bepitied was the poor boy, who had had his youth spoilt by a stern father.A woman easily bestows some tender feeling on the man that she pities;perhaps because she is grateful to him for the pleasure of feelingherself the stronger, and because through him and his suffering shefinds gratification for the noblest happiness of a woman's heart--thatof giving tender and helpful care; women's hands are softer than ours.In men's hearts love is commonly extinguished when pity begins,while admiration acts like sunshine on the budding plant of a woman'sinclination, and pity is the glory which radiates from her heart.

  Neither admiration nor pity, however, would have been needed to induceSirona to call Hermas to her window; she felt so unhappy and lonely,that any one must have seemed welcome from whom she might look for afriendly and encouraging word to revive her deeply wounded self-respect.And there came the young anchorite, who forgot himself and everythingelse in her presence, whose looks, whose movement, whose very silenceeven seemed to do homage to her. And then his bold spring into her room,and his eager wooing--"This is love," said she to herself. Her cheeksglowed, and when Hermas clasped her hand, and pressed her arm to hislips, she could not repulse him, till Dorothea's voice reminded her ofthe worthy lady and of the children, and through them of her own far-offsisters.

  The thought of these pure beings flowed over her troubled spirit like apurifying stream, and the question passed through her mind, "What shouldI be without these good folks over there, and is this great love-sickboy, who stood before Polykarp just lately looking like a school-boy,is he so worthy that I should for his sake give up the right of lookingthem boldly in the face?" And she pushed Hermas roughly away, just as hewas venturing for the first time to apply his lips to her perfumed goldhair, and desired him to be less forward, and to release her hand.

  She spoke in a low voice, but with such decision, that the lad, who wasaccustomed to the habit of obedience, unresistingly allowed her to pushhim into the sitting-room. There was a lamp burning on the table, andon a bench by the wall of the room, which was lined with colored stucco,lay the helmet, the centurion's staff, and the other portions of thearmor which Phoebicius had taken off before setting out for the feast ofMithras, in order to assume the vestments of one of the initiated of thegrade of "Lion."

  The lamp-light revealed Sirona's figure, and as she stood before him inall her beauty with glowing cheeks, the lad's heart began to beat high,and with increased boldness he opened his arms, and endeavored to drawher to him; but Sirona avoided him and went behind the table, and,leaning her hands on its polished surface while it protected her like ashield, she lectured him in wise and almost motherly words against hisrash, intemperate, and unbecoming behavior.

  Any one who was learned in the heart of woman might have smiled at suchwords from such lips and in such an hour; but Hermas blushed and castdown his eyes, and knew not what to answer. A great change had comeover the Gaulish lady; she felt a great pride in her virtue, and in thevictory she had won over herself, and while she sunned herself in thesplendor of her own merits, she wished that Hermas too should feel andrecognize them. She began to expatiate on all that she had to forego andto endure in the oasis, and she discoursed of virtue and the duties of awife, and of the wickedness and audacity of men.

  Hermas, she said, was no better than the rest, and because she had shownherself somewhat kind to him, he fancied already that he had a claim onher liking; but he was greatly mistaken, and if only the courtyard hadbeen empty, she would long ago have shown him the door.

  The young hermit was soon only half listening to all she said, for hisattention had been riveted by the armor which lay before him, and whichgave a new direction to his excited feelings. He involuntarily putout his hand towards the gleaming helmet, and interrupted the prettypreacher with the question, "May I try it on?"

  Sirona laughed out loud and exclaimed, much amused and altogetherdiverted from her train of thought, "To be sure. You ought to be asoldier. How well it suits you
! Take off your nasty sheepskin, and letus see how the anchorite looks as a centurion."

  Hermas needed no second telling; he decked himself in the Gaul's armorwith Sirona's help. We human beings must indeed be in a deplorableplight; otherwise how is it that from our earliest years we find suchdelight in disguising ourselves; that is to say, in sacrificing ourown identity to the tastes of another whose aspect we borrow. The childshares this inexplicable pleasure with the sage, and the stern man whoshould condemn it would not therefore be the wiser, for he who whollyabjures folly is a fool all the more certainly the less he fancieshimself one. Even dressing others has a peculiar charm, especially forwomen; it is often a question which has the greater pleasure, the maidwho dresses her mistress or the lady who wears the costly garment.

  Sirona was devoted to every sort of masquerading. If it had been needfulto seek a reason why the senator's children and grandchildren were sofond of her, by no means last or least would have been the fact thatshe would willingly and cheerfully allow herself to be tricked out incolored kerchiefs, ribands, and flowers, and on her part could contrivethe most fantastic costumes for them. So soon as she saw Hermas withthe helmet on, the fancy seized her to carry through the travesty hehad begun. She eagerly and in perfect innocence pulled the coat of armorstraight, helped him to buckle the breastplate and to fasten on thesword, and as she performed the task, at which Hermas proved himselfunskilful enough, her gay and pleasant laugh rang out again and again.When he sought to seize her hand, as he not seldom did, she hit himsharply on the fingers, and scolded him.

  Hermas' embarrassment thawed before this pleasant sport, and soon hebegan to tell her how hateful the lonely life on the mountain was tohim. He told her that Petrus himself had advised him to try his strengthout in the world, and he confided to her that if his father got well,he meant to be a soldier, and do great deeds. She quite agreed with him,praised and encouraged him, then she criticised his slovenly deportment,showed him with comical gravity how a warrior ought to stand and walk,called herself his drill-master, and was delighted at the zeal withwhich he strove to imitate her.

  In such play the hours passed quickly. Hermas was proud of himself inhis soldierly garb, and was happy in her presence and in the hope offuture triumphs; and Sirona was gay, as she had usually been only whenplaying with the children, so that even Miriam's wild cry, which theyouth explained to be the scream of an owl, only for a moment remindedher of the danger in which she was placing herself. Petrus' slaves hadlong gone to rest before she began to weary of amusing herself withHermas, and desired him to lay aside her husband's equipment, and toleave her. Hermas obeyed while she warily opened the shutters, andturning to him, said, "You cannot venture through the court-yard; youmust go through this window into the open street. But there is some onecoming down the road; let him pass first, it will not be long to wait,for he is walking quickly."

  She carefully drew the shutters to, and laughed to see how clumsilyHermas set to work to unbuckle the greaves; but the gay laugh diedupon her lips when the gate flew open, the greyhound and the senator'swatch-dogs barked loudly, and she recognized her husband's voice as heordered the dogs to be quiet.

  "Fly-fly-for the gods' sake!" she cried in a trembling voice. With thatready presence of mind with which destiny arms the weakest woman ingreat and sudden danger, she extinguished the lamp, flung open theshutter, and pushed Hermas to the window. The boy did not stay to bidher farewell, but swung himself with a strong leap down into theroad, and, followed by the barking of the dogs, which roused all theneighboring households, he flew up the street to the little church.

  He had not got more than half-way when he saw a man coming towards him;he sprang into the shadow of a house, but the belated walker acceleratedhis steps, and came straight up to him. He set off running again, butthe other pursued him, and kept close at his heels till he had passedall the houses and began to go up the mountain-path. Hermas felt that hewas outstripping his pursuer, and was making ready for a spring over ablock of stone that encumbered the path, when he heard his name calledbehind him, and he stood still, for he recognized the voice of the manfrom whom he was flying as that of his good friend Paulus.

  "You indeed," said the Alexandrian, panting for breath. "Yes, you areswifter than I. Years hang lead on our heels, but do you know what itis that lends them the swiftest wings? You have just learned it! It is abad conscience; and pretty things will be told about you; the dogs havebarked it all out loud enough to the night."

  "And so they may!" replied Hermas defiantly, and trying in vain to freehimself from the strong grasp of the anchorite who held him firmly. "Ihave done nothing wrong."

  "Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife!" interrupted Paulus in a toneof stern severity. "You have been with the centurion's pretty wife, andwere taken by surprise. Where is your sheepskin?"

  Hermas started, felt on his shoulder, and exclaimed, striking his fistagainst his forehead, "Merciful Heaven!--I have left it there! Theraging Gaul will find it."

  "He did not actually see you there?" asked Paulus eagerly.

  "No, certainly not," groaned Hermas, "but the skin--"

  "Well, well," muttered Paulus. "Your sin is none the less, but somethingmay be done in that case. Only think if it came to your father's ears;it might cost him his life."

  "And that poor Sirona!" sighed Hermas.

  "Leave me to settle that," exclaimed Paulus. "I will make everythingstraight with her. There, take sheepskin. You will not? Well, to besure, the man who does not fear to commit adultery would make nothingof becoming his father's murderer.--There, that is the way! fasten ittogether over your shoulders; you will need it, for you must quit thisspot, and not for to-day and to-morrow only. You wanted to go out intothe world, and now you will have the opportunity of showing whether youreally are capable of walking on your own feet. First go to Raithu andgreet the pious Nikon in my name, and tell him that I remain here onthe mountain, for after long praying in the church I have found myselfunworthy of the office of elder which they offered me. Then get yourselfcarried by some ship's captain across the Red Sea, and wander up anddown the Egyptian coast. The hordes of the Blemmyes have lately shownthemselves there; keep your eye on them, and when the wild bandsare plotting some fresh outbreak you can warn the watch on themountain-peaks; how to cross the sea and so outstrip them, it willbe your business to find out. Do you feel bold enough and capable ofaccomplishing this task? Yes? So I expected! Now may the Lord guide you.I will take care of your father, and his blessing and your mother's willrest upon you if you sincerely repent, and if you now do your duty."

  "You shall learn that I am a man," cried Hermas with sparkling eyes. "Mybow and arrows are lying in your cave, I will fetch them and then--aye!you shall see whether you sent the right man on the errand. Greet myfather, and once more give me your hand."

  Paulus grasped the boy's right hand, drew him to him, and kissed hisforehead with fatherly tenderness. Then he said, "In my cave, under thegreen stone, you will find six gold-pieces; take three of them with youon your journey. You will probably need them at any rate to pay yourpassage. Now be off, and get to Raithu in good time."

  Hermas hurried up the mountain, his head full of the important task thathad been laid upon him; dazzling visions of the great deeds he wasto accomplish eclipsed the image of the fair Sirona, and he was soaccustomed to believe in the superior insight and kindness of Paulusthat he feared no longer for Sirona now that his friend had made heraffair his own.

  The Alexandrian looked after him, and breathed a short prayer for him;then he went down again into the valley.

  It was long past midnight, and the moon was sinking; it grew cooler andcooler, and since he had given his sheepskin to Hermas he had nothingon, but his thread-bare coat. Nevertheless he went slowly onwards,stopping every now and then, moving his arms, and speaking incoherentwords in a low tone to himself.

  He thought of Hermas and Sirona, of his own youth, and of how inAlexandria he himself had tapped at the shutters of the da
rk-haired Aso,and the fair Simaitha.

  "A child--a mere boy," he murmured. "Who would have thought it? TheGaulish woman no doubt may be handsome, and as for him, it is a fact,that as he threw the discus I was myself surprised at his noble figure.And his eyes--aye, he has Magdalen's eyes! If the Gaul had found himwith his wife, and had run his sword through his heart, he would havegone unpunished by the earthly judge--however, his father is spared thissorrow. In this desert the old man thought that his darling could not betouched by the world and its pleasures. And now? These brambles I oncethought lay dried up on the earth, and could never get up to the top ofthe palm-tree where the dates ripen, but a bird flew by, and picked upthe berries, and carried them into its nest at the highest point of thetree.

  "Who can point out the road that another will take, and say to-day,'To-morrow I shall find him thus and not otherwise.'

  "We fools flee into the desert in order to forget the world, and theworld pursues us and clings to our skirts. Where are the shears that arekeen enough to cut the shadow from beneath our feet? What is the prayerthat can effectually release us--born of the flesh--from the burden ofthe flesh? My Redeemer, Thou Only One, who knowest it, teach it to me,the basest of the base."