CHAPTER XIII.
The light in the town, which had attracted Paulus, was in Petrus'house, and burnt in Polykarp's room, which formed the whole of a smallupper-story, which the senator had constructed for his son over thenorthern portion of the spacious flat roof of the main building. Theyoung man had arrived about noon with the slaves he had just procured,had learned all that had happened in his absence, and had silentlywithdrawn into his own room after supper was ended. Here he stilllingered over his work.
A bed, a table on and under which lay a multitude of wax-tablets,papyrus-rolls, metal-points, and writing-reeds, with a small bench, onwhich stood a water-jar and basin, composed the furniture of this room;on its whitewashed walls hung several admirable carvings in relief, andfigures of men and animals stood near them in long rows. In one corner,near a stone water-jar, lay a large, damp, shining mass of clay.
Three lamps fastened to stands abundantly lighted this work-room, butchiefly a figure standing on a high trestle, which Polykarp's fingerswere industriously moulding.
Phoebicius had called the young sculptor a fop, and not altogetherunjustly, for he loved to be well dressed and was choice as to the cutand color of his simple garments, and he rarely neglected to arrange hisabundant hair with care, and to anoint it well; and yet it was almostindifferent to him, whether his appearance pleased other people or no,but he knew nothing nobler than the human form, and an instinct, whichhe did not attempt to check, impelled him to keep his own person as niceas he liked to see that of his neighbor.
Now at this hour of the night, he wore only a shirt of white woollenstuff, with a deep red border. His locks, usually so well-kept, seemedto stand out from his head separately, and instead of smoothing andconfining them, he added to their wild disorder, for, as he worked, hefrequently passed his hand through them with a hasty movement. A bat,attracted by the bright light, flew in at the open window--which wasscreened only at the bottom by a dark curtain--and fluttered round theceiling; but he did not observe it, for his work absorbed his whole souland mind. In this eager and passionate occupation, in which every nerveand vein in his being seemed to bear a part, no cry for help would havestruck his ear--even a flame breaking out close to him would not havecaught his eye. His cheeks glowed, a fine dew of glistening sweatcovered his brow, and his very gaze seemed to become more and morefirmly riveted to the sculpture as it took form under his hand. Nowand again he stepped back from it, and leaned backwards from his hips,raising his hands to the level of his temples, as if to narrow the fieldof vision; then he went up to the model, and clutched the plastic massof clay, as though it were the flesh of his enemy.
He was now at work on the flowing hair of the figure before him, whichhad already taken the outline of a female head, and he flung the bits ofclay, which he removed from the back of it, to the ground, as violentlyas though he were casting them at an antagonist at his feet. Again hisfinger-tips and modelling-tool were busy with the mouth, nose, cheeks,and eyes, and his own eyes took a softer expression, which graduallygrew to be a gaze of ecstatic delight, as the features he was mouldingbegan to agree more and more with the image, which at this time excludedevery other from his imagination.
At last, with glowing cheeks, he had finished rounding the soft form ofthe shoulders, and drew back once more to contemplate the effect of thecompleted work; a cold shiver seized him, and he felt himself impelledto lift it up, and dash it to the ground with all his force. But he soonmastered this stormy excitement, he pushed his hand through his hairagain and again, and posted himself, with a melancholy smile and withfolded hands, in front of his creation; sunk deeper and deeper in hiscontemplation of it, he did not observe that the door behind him wasopened, although the flame of his lamps flickered in the draught, andthat his mother had entered the work-room, and by no means endeavoredto approach him unheard, or to surprise him. In her anxiety for herdarling, who had gone through so many bitter experiences during thepast day, she had not been able to sleep. Polykarp's room lay above herbedroom, and when his steps over head betrayed that, though it was nownear morning, he had not yet gone to rest, she had risen from herbed without waking Petrus, who seemed to be sleeping. She obeyed hermotherly impulse to encourage Polykarp with some loving words, andclimbing up the narrow stair that led to the roof, she went into hisroom. Surprised, irresolute, and speechless she stood for some timebehind the young man, and looked at the strongly illuminated andbeautiful features of the newly-formed bust, which was only too like itswell-known prototype. At last she laid her hand on her son's shoulder,and spoke his name. Polykarp stepped back, and looked at his motherin bewilderment, like a man roused from sleep; but she interrupted thestammering speech with which he tried to greet her, by saying, gravelyand not without severity, as she pointed to the statue, "What does thismean?"
"What should it mean, mother?" answered Polykarp in a low tone, andshaking his head sadly. "Ask me no more at present, for if you gave meno rest, and even if I tried to explain to you how to-day--this veryday--I have felt impelled and driven to make this woman's image, stillyou could not understand me--no, nor any one else."
"God forbid that I should ever understand it!" cried Dorothea. "'Thoushalt not covet thy neighbor's wife,' was the commandment of the Lord onthis mountain. And you? You think I could not understand you? Whoshould understand you then, if not your mother? This I certainly do notcomprehend, that a son of Petrus and of mine should have thrown all theteaching and the example of his parents so utterly to the wind. But whatyou are aiming at with this statue, it seems to me is not hard to guess.As the forbidden-fruit hangs too high for you, you degrade your art, andmake to yourself an image that resembles her according to your taste.Simply and plainly it comes to this; as you can no longer see the Gaul'swife in her own person, and yet cannot exist without the sweet presenceof the fair one, you make a portrait of clay to make love to, and youwill carry on idolatry before it, as once the Jews did before the goldencalf and the brazen serpent."
Polykarp submitted to his mother's angry blame in silence, but inpainful emotion. Dorothea had never before spoken to him thus, and tohear such words from the very lips which were used to address him withsuch heart-felt tenderness, gave him unspeakable pain. Hitherto shehad always been inclined to make excuses for his weaknesses and littlefaults, nay, the zeal with which she had observed and pointed out hismerits and performances before strangers as well as before their ownfamily, had often seemed to him embarrassing. And now? She had indeedreason to blame him, for Sirona was the wife of another, she had nevereven noticed his admiration, and now, they all said, had committed acrime for the sake of a stranger. It must seem both a mad and a sinfulthing in the eyes of men that he of all others should sacrifice the besthe had--his Art--and how little could Dorothea, who usually endeavoredto understand him, comprehend the overpowering impulse which had drivenhim to his task.
He loved and honored his mother with his whole heart, and feeling thatshe was doing herself an injustice by her false and low estimate ofhis proceedings, he interrupted her eager discourse, raising his handsimploringly to her.
"No, mother, no!" he exclaimed. "As truly as God is my helper, it is notso. It is true that I have moulded this head, but not to keep it, andcommit the sin of worshipping it, but rather to free myself from theimage that stands before my mind's eye by day and by night, in the cityand in the desert, whose beauty distracts my mind when I think, and mydevotions when I try to pray. To whom is it given to read the soul ofman? And is not Sirona's form and face the loveliest image of theMost High? So to represent it, that the whole charm that her presenceexercises over me might also be felt by every beholder, is a task that Ihave set myself ever since her arrival in our house. I had to go backto the capital, and the work I longed to achieve took a clearer form; atevery hour I discovered something to change and to improve in the poseof the head, the glance of the eye or the expression of the mouth.But still I lacked courage to put the work in hand, for it seemed tooaudacious to attempt to give reality to the glorious imag
e in my soul,by the aid of gray clay and pale cold marble; to reproduce it so thatthe perfect work should delight the eye of sense, no less than the imageenshrined in my breast delights my inward eye. At the same time I wasnot idle, I gained the prize for the model of the lions, and if I havesucceeded with the Good Shepherd blessing the flock, which is for thesarcophagus of Comes, and if the master could praise the expressionof devoted tenderness in the look of the Redeemer, I know--nay, do notinterrupt me, mother, for what I felt was a pure emotion and no sin--Iknow that it was because I was myself so full of love, that I wasenabled to inspire the very stone with love. At last I had no peace, andeven without my father's orders I must have returned home; then I sawher again, and found her even more lovely than the image which reignedin my soul. I heard her voice, and her silvery bell-like laughter--andthen--and then--. You know very well what I learned yesterday. Theunworthy wife of an unworthy husband, the woman Sirona, is gone fromme for ever, and I was striving to drive her image from my soul, toannihilate it and dissipate it--but in vain! and by degrees a wonderfulstress of creative power came upon me. I hastily placed the lamps, tookthe clay in my hand, and feature by feature I brought forth with bitterjoy the image that is deeply graven in my heart, believing that thus Imight be released from the spell. There is the fruit which was ripenedin my heart, but there, where it so long has dwelt, I feel a dismalvoid, and if the husk which so long tenderly enfolded this image were towither and fall asunder, I should not wonder at it.--To that thing thereclings the best part of my life."
"Enough!" exclaimed Dorothea, interrupting her son who stood before herin great agitation and with trembling lips. "God forbid that that maskthere should destroy your life and soul. I suffer nothing impure withinmy house, and you should not in your heart. That which is evil can nevermore be fair, and however lovely the face there may look to you, itlooks quite as repulsive to me when I reflect that it probably smiledstill more fascinatingly on some strolling beggar. If the Gaul bringsher back I will turn her out of my house, and I will destroy her imagewith my own hands if you do not break it in pieces on the spot."
Dorothea's eyes were swimming in tears as she spoke these words. Shehad felt with pride and emotion during her son's speech how noble andhigh-minded he was, and the idea that this rare and precious treasureshould be spoilt or perhaps altogether ruined for the sake of a lostwoman, drove her to desperation, and filled her motherly heart withindignation.
Firmly resolved to carry out her threat she stepped towards the figure,but Polykarp placed himself in her way, raising his arm imploringly todefend it, and saying, "Not to-day--not yet, mother! I will cover itup, and will not look at it again till to-morrow, but once--only once--Imust see it again by sunlight."
"So that to-morrow the old madness may revive in you!" cried Dorothea."Move out of my way or take the hammer yourself."
"You order it, and you are my mother," said Polykarp.
He slowly went up to the chest in which his tools and instruments lay,and bitter tears ran down his cheeks, as he took his heaviest hammer inhis hand.
When the sky has shown for many days in summer-blue, and then suddenlythe clouds gather for a storm, when the first silent but fearful flashwith it noisy but harmless associate the thunder-clap has terrified theworld, a second and third thunder-bolt immediately follow. Since thestormy night of yesterday had broken in on the peaceful, industrious,and monotonous life by the senator's hearth, many things had happenedthat had filled him and his wife with fresh anxiety.
In other houses it was nothing remarkable that a slave should run away,but in the senator's it was more than twenty years since such a thinghad occurred, and yesterday the goat-herd Miriam had disappeared. Thiswas vexatious, but the silent sorrow of his son Polykarp was a greateranxiety to Petrus. It did not please him that the youth, who was usuallyso vehement, should submit unresistingly and almost indifferently to theBishop Agapitus, who prohibited his completing his lions. His son's sadgaze, his crushed and broken aspect were still in his mind when at lasthe went to rest for the night; it was already late, but sleep avoidedhim even as it had avoided Dorothea. While the mother was thinking ofher son's sinful love and the bleeding wound in his young and betrayedheart, the father grieved for Polykarp's baffled hopes of exercising hisart on a great work and recalled the saddest, bitterest day of his ownyouth; for he too had served his apprenticeship under a sculptor inAlexandria, had looked up to the works of the heathen as noble models,and striven to form himself upon them. He had already been permitted byhis master to execute designs of his own, and out of the abundance ofsubjects which offered themselves, he had chosen to model an Ariadne,waiting and longing for the return of Thescus, as a symbolic image ofhis own soul awaiting its salvation. How this work had filled his mind!how delightful had the hours of labor seemed to him!--when, suddenly,his stern father had come to the city, had seen his work before it wasquite finished, and instead of praising it had scorned it; had abusedit as a heathen idol, and had commanded Petrus to return home with himimmediately, and to remain there, for that his son should be a piousChristian, and a good stone-mason withal--not half a heathen, and amaker of false gods.
Petrus had much loved his art, but he offered no resistance to hisfather's orders; he followed him back to the oasis, there to superintendthe work of the slaves who hewed the stone, to measure granite-blocksfor sarcophagi and pillars, and to direct the cutting of them. Hisfather was a man of steel, and he himself a lad of iron, and when hesaw himself compelled to yield to his father and to leave his master'sworkshop, to abandon his cherished and unfinished work and to become anartizan and mail of business, he swore never again to take a piece ofclay in his hand, or to wield a chisel. And he kept his word even afterhis fathers death; but his creative instincts and love of art continuedto live and work in him, and were transmitted to his two sons.
Antonius was a highly gifted artist, and if Polykarp's master was notmistaken, and if he himself were not misled by fatherly affection, hissecond son was on the high road to the very first rank in art--to aposition reached only by elect spirits.
Petrus knew the models for the Good Shepherd and for the lions, anddeclared to himself that these last were unsurpassable in truth, power,and majesty. How eagerly must the young artist long to execute them inhard stone, and to see them placed in the honored, though indeed pagan,spot, which was intended for them. And now the bishop forbade him thework, and the poor fellow might well be feeling just as he himselfhad felt thirty years ago, when he had been commanded to abandon theimmature first-fruits of his labor.
Was the bishop indeed right? This and many other questions agitated thesleepless father, and as soon as he heard that his wife had risen fromher bed to go to her son, whose footsteps he too could hear overhead, hegot up and followed her.
He found the door of the work-room open, and, himself unseen andunheard, he was witness to his wife's vehement speech, and to the lad'sjustification, while Polykarp's work stood in the full light of thelamps, exactly in front of him.
His gaze was spell-bound to the mass of clay; he looked and looked, andwas not weary of looking, and his soul swelled with the same awe-strucksense of devout admiration that it had experienced, when for the firsttime, in his early youth, he saw with his own eyes the works of thegreat old Athenian masters in the Caesareum.
And this head was his son's work!
He stood there greatly overcome, his hands clasped together, holdinghis breath till his mouth was dry, and swallowing his tears to keep themfrom falling. At the same time he listened with anxious attention, so asnot to lose one word of Polykarp's.
"Aye, thus and thus only are great works of art begotten," said he tohimself, "and if the Lord had bestowed on me such gifts as on this lad,no father, nay, no god, should have compelled me to leave my Ariadneunfinished. The attitude of the body was not bad I should say--but thehead, the face--Aye, the man who can mould such a likeness as that hashis hand and eye guided by the holy spirits of art. He who has done thathead will be praised in
the latter days together with the great Athenianmasters--and he-yes, he, merciful Heaven! he is my own beloved son!"
A blessed sense of rejoicing, such as he had not felt since his earlyyouth, filled his heart, and Dorothea's ardor seemed to him half pitifuland half amusing.
It was not till his duteous son took the hammer in his hand, that hestepped between his wife and the bust, saying kindly:
"There will be time enough to-morrow to destroy the work. Forget themodel, my son, now that you have taken advantage of it so successfully.I know of a better mistress for you--Art--to whom belongs everythingof beauty that the Most High has created--In Art in all its breadth andfulness, not fettered and narrowed by any Agapitus."
Polykarp flung himself into his father's arms, and the stern man, hardlymaster of his emotions, kissed the boy's forehead, his eyes, and hischeeks.