CHAPTER XII.
Without even vouchsafing Hanno another glance, Ledscha glided forward inthe shadow of the bushes to the great sycamore, whose thick, broad topon the side toward the tents was striped with light from the flood ofradiance streaming from them. On the opposite side the leafage vanishedin the darkness of the night, but Myrtilus had had a bench placed there,that he might rest in the shade, and from this spot the girl couldobtain the best view of what she desired to see.
How gay and animated it was under the awning!
A throng of companions had arrived with the Pelusinians, and some alsohad probably been on the ship which--she knew it from Bias--had come toTennis directly from Alexandria that afternoon. The galley was said tobelong to Philotas, an aristocratic relative of King Ptolemy. If she wasnot mistaken, he was the stately young Greek who was just picking up theostrich-feather fan that had slipped from Daphne's lap.
The performance was over.
Young slaves in gay garments, and nimble female servants with glitteringgold circlets round their upper arms and on their ankles, werepassing from couch to couch, and from one guest to another, offeringrefreshments. Hermon had risen from his knees, and the wreath of brightflowers again adorned his black curls. He held himself as proudly erectas if the goddess of Victory herself had crowned him, while Althea wasreaping applause and thanks. Ledscha gazed past her and the others towatch every movement of the sculptor.
It was scarcely the daughter of Archias who had detained Hermon, for hemade only a brief answer--Ledscha could not hear what it was--when sheaccosted him pleasantly, to devote himself to Althea, and--this could beperceived even at a distance--thank her with ardent devotion.
And now--now he even raised the hem of her peplos to his lips.
A scornful smile hovered around Ledscha's mouth; but Daphne's guestsalso noticed this mark of homage--an unusual one in their circle--andyoung Philotas, who had followed Daphne from Alexandria, cast asignificant glance at a man with a smooth, thin, birdlike face, whosehair was already turning gray. His name was Proclus, and, as grammateusof the Dionysian games and high priest of Apollo, he was one of the mostinfluential men in Alexandria, especially as he was one of the favouredcourtiers of Queen Arsinoe.
He had gone by her command to the Syrian court, had enjoyed onhis return, at Pelusium, with his travelling companion Althea, thehospitality of Philippus, and accompanied the venerable officer toTennis in order to win him over to certain plans. In spite of hisadvanced age, he still strove to gain the favour of fair women, and thesculptor's excessive ardour had displeased him.
So he let his somewhat mocking glance wander from Althea to Hermon,and called to the latter: "My congratulations, young master; but I needscarcely remind you that Nike suffers no one--not even goodness andgrace personified--to take from her hand what it is her sole duty tobestow."
While speaking he adjusted the laurel on his own thin hair; but Thyone,the wife of Philippus, answered eagerly: "If I were a young man likeHermon, instead of an old woman, noble Proclus, I think the wreath whichBeauty bestows would render me scarcely less happy than stern Nike'scrown of victory."
While making this pleasant reply the matron's wrinkled face wore anexpression of such cordial kindness, and her deep voice was so winningin its melody, that Hermon forced himself to heed the glance of urgentwarning Daphne cast at him, and leave the sharp retort that hovered onhis lips unuttered. Turning half to the grammateus, half to the matron,he merely said, in a cold, self-conscious tone, that Thyone was right.In this gay circle, the wreath of bright flowers proffered by the handsof a beautiful woman was the dearest of all gifts, and he would know howto value it.
"Until other more precious ones cast it into oblivion," observed Althea."Let me see, Hermon: ivy and roses. The former is lasting, but theroses--" She shook her finger in roguish menace at the sculptor as shespoke.
"The roses," Proclus broke in again, "are of course the most welcome toour young friend from such a hand; yet these flowers of the goddess ofBeauty have little in common with his art, which is hostile to beauty.Still, I do not know what wreath will be offered to the new tendencywith which he surprised us."
At this Hermon raised his head higher, and answered sharply: "Doubtlessthere must have been few of them, since you, who are so often among thejudges, do not know them. At any rate, those which justice bestows havehitherto been lacking."
"I should deplore that," replied Proclus, stroking his sharp chin withhis thumb and forefinger; "but I fear that our beautiful Nike alsocared little for this lofty virtue of the judge in the last coronation.However, her immortal model lacks it often enough."
"Because she is a woman," said one of the young officers, laughing; andanother added gaily: "That very thing may be acceptable to us soldiers.For my part, I think everything about the goddess of Victory isbeautiful and just, that she may remain graciously disposed towardus. Nay, I accuse the noble Althea of withholding from Nike, in herpersonation, her special ornament--her swift, powerful wings."
"She gave those to Eros, to speed his flight," laughed Proclus, castinga meaning look at Althea and Hermon.
No one failed to notice that this jest alluded to the love which seemedto have been awakened in the sculptor as quickly as in the personatorof the goddess of Victory, and, while it excited the merriment of theothers, the blood mounted into Hermon's cheeks; but Myrtilus perceivedwhat was passing in the mind of his irritable friend, and, as thegrammateus praised Nike because in this coronation she had omitted thelaurel, the fair-haired Greek interrupted him with the exclamation:
"Quite right, noble Proclus, the grave laurel does not suit our gaypastime; but roses belong to the artist everywhere, and are alwayswelcome to him. The more, the better!"
"Then we will wait till the laurel is distributed in some other place,"replied the grammateus; and Myrtilus quickly added, "I will answer forit that Hermon does not leave it empty-handed."
"No one will greet the work which brings your friend the wreath ofvictory with warmer joy," Proclus protested. "But, if I am correctlyinformed, yonder house hides completed treasures whose inspection wouldgive the fitting consecration to this happy meeting. Do you know whatan exquisite effect gold and ivory statues produce in a full glow oflamplight? I first learned it a short time ago at the court of KingAntiochus. There is no lack of lights here. What do you say, gentlemen?Will you not have the studios lighted till the rooms are as bright asday, and add a noble enjoyment of art to the pleasures of this wonderfulnight?"
But Hermon and Myrtilus opposed this proposal with equal decision.
Their refusal awakened keen regret, and the old commandant of Pelusiumwould not willingly yield to it.
Angrily shaking his large head, around which, in spite of his advancedage, thick snowwhite locks floated like a lion's mane, he exclaimed,"Must we then really return to our Pelusium, where Ares restricts thenative rights of the Muses, without having admired the noble works whicharose in such mysterious secrecy here, where Arachne rules and swingsthe weaver's shuttle?"
"But my two cruel cousins have closed their doors even upon me, who camehere for the sake of their works," Daphne interrupted, "and, as ratherZeus is threatening a storm--just see what black clouds are rising!--weought not to urge our artists further; a solemn oath forbids them toshow their creations now to any one."
This earnest assurance silenced the curious, and, while the conversationtook another turn, the gray-haired general's wife drew Myrtilus aside.
Hermon's parents had been intimate friends of her own, as well as ofher husband's, and with the interest of sincere affection she desiredto know whether the young sculptor could really hope for the success ofwhich Myrtilus had just spoken.
It was years since she had visited Alexandria, but what she heard ofHermon's artistic work from many guests, and now again through Proclus,filled her with anxiety.
He had succeeded, it was said, in attracting attention, and his greattalent was beyond question; but in this age, to which beauty was as
muchone of the necessities of life as bread and wine, and which could notseparate it from art, he ventured to deny it recognition. He headed acurrent in art which was striving to destroy what had been proved andacknowledged, yet, though his creations were undeniably powerful,and even showed many other admirable qualities, instead of pleasing,satisfying, and ennobling, they repelled.
These opinions had troubled the matron, who understood men, and was themore disposed to credit them the more distinctly she perceived tracesof discontent and instability in Hermon's manner during the presentmeeting.
So it afforded her special pleasure to learn from Myrtilus his firmconviction that, in Arachne, Hermon would produce a masterpiece whichcould scarcely be excelled.
During this conversation Althea had come to Thyone's side, and, asHermon had already spoken to her of the Arachne, she eagerly expressedher belief that this work seemed as if it were specially created forhim.
The Greek matron leaned back comfortably upon her cushions, herwrinkled, owl-like face assumed a cheerful expression, and, with theeasy confidence conferred by aristocratic birth, a distinguished socialposition, and a light heart, she exclaimed: "Lucifer is probably alreadybehind yonder clouds, preparing to announce day, and this exquisitebanquet ought to have a close worthy of it. What do you say, youwonder-working darling of the Muses"--she held out her hand to Althea asshe spoke--"to showing us and the two competing artists yonder the modelof the Arachne they are to represent in gold and ivory?"
Althea fixed her eyes upon the ground, and, after a short period ofreflection, answered hesitatingly: "The task which you set before me iscertainly no easy one, but I shall rely upon your indulgence."
"She will!" cried the matron to the others.
Then, clapping her hands, she continued gaily, in the tone of thedirector of an entertainment issuing invitations to a performance: "Yourattention is requested! In this city of weavers the noble Thracian,Althea, will depict before you all the weaver of weavers, Arachne, inperson."
"Take heed and follow my advice to sharpen your eyes," added Philotas,who, conscious of his inferiority in intellect and talents to the menand women assembled here, took advantage of this opportunity to asserthimself in a manner suited to his aristocratic birth. "This artistic yethapless Arachne, if any one, teaches the lesson how the lofty Olympianspunish those who venture to place themselves on the same level; solet artists beware. We stepchildren of the Muse can lull ourselvescomfortably in the assurance of not giving the jealous gods theslightest cause for the doom which overtook the pitiable weaver."
Not a word of this declaration of the Macedonian aristocrat escaped thelistening Ledscha. Scales seemed to fall from her eyes. Hermon had wonher love in order to use her for the model of his statue of Arachne,and, now that he had met Althea, who perhaps suited his purpose evenbetter, he no longer needed the barbarian. He had cast her aside likea tight shoe as soon as he found a more acceptable one in this femalejuggler.
The girl had already asked herself, with a slight thrill of horror,whether she had not prematurely called down so terrible a punishmentupon her lover; now she rejoiced in her swift action. If anything elseremained for her to do, it was to make the vengeance with which sheintended to requite him still more severe.
There he stood beside the woman she hated. Could he bestow even one poorthought upon the Biamite girl and the wrong he had inflicted?
Oh, no! His heart was filled to overflowing by the Greek--every lookrevealed it.
What was the shameless creature probably whispering to him now?
Perhaps a meeting was just being granted. The rapture which had beenpredicted to her for this moonlight night, and of which Hermon hadrobbed her, was mirrored in his features. He could think of everythingexcept her and her poor, crushed heart.
But Ledscha was mistaken. Althea had asked the sculptor whether hestill regretted having been detained by her before midnight, and he hadconfessed that his remaining at the banquet had been connected with agreat sacrifice--nay, with an offence which weighed heavily on hismind. Yet he was grateful to the favour of the gods that had guided hisdecision, for Althea had it in her power to compensate him richly forwhat he had lost.
A glance full of promise flashed upon him from her eloquent eyes, and,turning toward the pedestal at the same instant, she asked softly, "Isthe compensation I must and will bestow connected with the Arachne?"
An eager "Yes" confirmed this question, and a swift movement of herexpressive lips showed him that his boldest anticipations were to besurpassed.
How gladly he would have detained her longer!--but she was already theobject of all eyes, and his, too, followed her in expectant suspense asshe gave an order to the female attendant and then stood thoughtfullyfor some time before the platform.
When she at last ascended it, the spectators supposed that she wouldagain use a cloth; but, instead of asking anything more from theassistants, she cast aside even the peplos that covered her shoulders.
Now, almost lean in her slenderness, she stood with downcast eyes; butsuddenly she loosed the double chain, adorned with flashing gems, fromher neck, the circlets from her upper arms and wrists, and, lastly, eventhe diadem, a gift bestowed by her relative, Queen Arsinoe, from hernarrow brow.
The female slaves received them, and then with swift movements Altheadivided her thick long tresses of red hair into narrower strands, whichshe flung over her back, bosom, and shoulders.
Next, as if delirious, she threw her head so far on one side that italmost touched her left shoulder, and stared wildly upward toward theright, at the same time raising her bare arms so high that they extendedfar above her head.
It was again her purpose to present the appearance of defending herselfagainst a viewless power, yet she was wholly unlike the Niobe whom shehad formerly personated, for not only anguish, horror, and defiance,but deep despair and inexpressible astonishment were portrayed by herfeatures, which obediently expressed the slightest emotion.
Something unprecedented, incomprehensible even to herself, wasoccurring, and to Ledscha, who watched her with an expectation aspassionate as if her own weal and woe depended upon Althea's everymovement, it seemed as if an unintelligible marvel was happening beforeher eyes, and a still greater one was impending; for was the woman upthere really a woman like herself and the others whose eyes were nowfixed upon the hated actress no less intently than her own?
Did her keen senses deceive her, or was not what was occurring actuallya mysterious transformation?
As Althea stood there, her delicate arms seemed to have lengthened andlost even their slight roundness, her figure to have become even moreslender and incorporeal, and how strangely her thin fingers spreadapart! How stiffly the strands of the parted, wholly uncurled locksstood out in the air!
Did it not seem as if they were to help her move?
The black shadow which Althea's figure and limbs cast upon the surfaceof the brightly lighted pedestal-no, it was no deception, it not onlyresembled the spinner among insects, it presented the exact picture of aspider.
The Greek's slender body had contracted, her delicate arms and narrowbraids of hair changed into spider legs, and the many-jointed hands werealready grasping for their prey like a spider, or preparing to wind themurderous threads around another living creature.
"Arachne, the spider!" fell almost inaudibly from her quivering lips,and, overpowered by torturing fear, she was already turning away fromthe frightful image, when the storm of applause which burst from theAlexandrian guests soothed her excited imagination.
Instead of the spider, a slender, lank woman, with long, outstretchedbare arms, and fingers spread wide apart, fluttering hair, and wanderingeyes again stood before Ledscha.
But no peace was yet granted to her throbbing heart, for while Althea,with perspiring brow and quivering lips, descended from the pedestal,and was received with loud demonstrations of astonishment and delight,the glare of a flash of lightning burst through the clouds, and a loudpeal of thunder shook the night
air and reverberated a long time overthe water.
At the same instant a loud cry rang from beneath the canopy.
Thyone, the wife of Alexander the Great's comrade, though absolutelyfearless in the presence of human foes, dreaded the thunder by whichZeus announced his anger. Seized with sudden terror, she commanded aslave to obtain a black lamb for a sacrifice, and earnestly entreatedher husband and her other companions to go on board the ship with herand seek shelter in its safe, rain-proof cabin, for already heavy dropswere beginning to fall upon the tensely drawn awning.
"Nemesis!" exclaimed the grammateus.
"Nemesis!" whispered young Philotas to Daphne in a confidential murmur,throwing his own costly purple cloak around her to shield her from therain. "Nowhere that we mortals overstep the bounds allotted to us do weawait her in vain."
Then bending down to her again, he added, by way of explanation: "Thewinged daughter of Night would prove herself negligent if she allowedme to enjoy wholly without drawback the overwhelming happiness of beingwith you once more."
"Nemesis!" remarked Thoas, an aristocratic young hipparch of theguards of the Diadochi, who had studied in Athens and belonged to thePeripatetics there. "The master sees in the figure of this goddess theindignation which the good fortune of the base or the unworthy use ofgood fortune inspires in us. She keeps the happy mean between envy andmalicious satisfaction." The young soldier looked around him, expectingapplause, but no one was listening; the tempest was spreading terroramong most of the freedmen and slaves.
Philotas and Myrtilus were following Daphne and her companion Chrysillaas they hurried into the tent. The deep, commanding tones of oldPhilippus vainly shouted the name of Althea, whom, as he had bestowedhis hospitality upon her in Pelusium, he regarded as his charge, whileat intervals he reprimanded the black slaves who were to carry his wifeto the ship, but at another heavy peal of thunder set down the litter tothrow themselves on their knees and beseech the angry god for mercy.
Gras, the steward whom Archias had given to his daughter, a Bithynianwho had attached himself to one school of philosophy after an other, andthereby ceased to believe in the power of the Olympians, lost his quietcomposure in this confusion, and even his usual good nature desertedhim. With harsh words, and no less harsh blows, he rushed upon theservants, who, instead of carrying the costly household utensils andembroidered cushions into the tent, drew out their amulets and idols toconfide their own imperilled lives to the protection of higher powers.
Meanwhile the gusts of wind which accompanied the outbreak of the stormextinguished the lamps and pitch-pans. The awning was torn from theposts, and amid the wild confusion rang the commandant of Pelusium'sshouts for Althea and the screams of two Egyptian slave women, who, withtheir foreheads pressed to the ground, were praying, while the angryGras was trying, by kicks and blows, to compel them to rise and go towork.
The officers were holding a whispered consultation whether they shouldaccept the invitation of Proclus and spend the short remnant of thenight on his galley over the wine, or first, according to the counselof their pious commandant, wait in the neighbouring temple of Zeus untilthe storm was over.
The tempest had completely scattered Daphne's guests. Even Ledschaglanced very rarely toward the tents. She had thrown her self on theground under the sycamore to beseech the angry deity for mercy, but,deeply as fear moved her agitated soul, she could not pray, but listenedanxiously whenever an unexpected noise came from the meeting place ofthe Greeks.
Then the tones of a familiar voice reached her. It was Hermon's, andthe person to whom he was speaking could be no one but the uncannyspider-woman, Althea.
They were coming to have a secret conversation under the shade of thedense foliage of the sycamore. That was easily perceived, and in aninstant Ledscha's fear yielded to a different feeling.
Holding her breath, she nestled close to the trunk of the ancient treeto listen, and the first word she heard was the name "Nemesis," whichhad just reached her from the tent.
She knew its meaning, for Tennis also had a little temple dedicated tothe terrible goddess, which was visited by the Egyptians and Biamites aswell as the Greeks.
A triumphant smile flitted over her unveiled features, for there was noother divinity on whose aid she could more confidently rely. She couldunchain the vengeance which threatened Hermon with a far more terribledanger than the thunder clouds above, under the protection--nay, as itwere at the behest of Nemesis.
To-morrow she would be the first to anoint her altar.
Now she rejoiced that her wealthy father imposed no restriction upon herin the management of household affairs, for she need spare no expense inchoosing the animal she intended to offer as a sacrifice.
This reflection flashed through her mind with the speed of lightningwhile she was listening to Althea's conversation with the sculptor.
"The question here can be no clever play upon the name and the natureof the daughter of Erebus and Night," said the Thracian gravely. "Iwill remind you that there is another Nemesis besides the just being whodrives from his stolen ease the unworthy mortal who suns himself ingood fortune. The Nemesis whom I will recall to-day, while angry Zeusis hurling his thunderbolts, is the other, who chastises sacrilege--Ate,the swiftest and most terrible of the Erinyes. I will invoke her wrathupon you in this hour if you do not confess the truth to me fully andentirely."
"Ask," Hermon interrupted in a hollow tone. "Only, you strange woman--"
"Only," she hastily broke in, "whatever the answer may be, I mustpose to you as the model for your Arachne--and perhaps it may cometo that--but first I must know, briefly and quickly, for they will belooking for me immediately. Do you love Daphne?"
"No," he answered positively. "True, she has been dear to me fromchildhood--"
"And," Althea added, completing the sentence, "you owe her father a debtof gratitude. But that is not new to me; I know also how little reasonyou gave her for loving you. Yet her heart belongs neither to Philotas,the great lord with the little brain, nor to the famous sculptorMyrtilus, whose body is really too delicate to bear all the laurels withwhich he is overloaded, but to you, and you alone--I know it."
Hermon tried to contradict her, but Althea, without allowing him tospeak, went on hurriedly: "No matter! I wished to know whether you lovedher. True, according to appearances, your heart does not glow for her,and hitherto you have disdained to transform by her aid, at a singlestroke, the poverty which ill suits you into wealth. But it was notmerely to speak of the daughter of Archias that I accompanied you intothis tempest, from which I would fain escape as quickly as possible. Sospeak quickly. I am to serve you in your art, and yet, if I understoodyou correctly, you have already found here another excellent model."
"A native of the country," answered Hermon in an embarrassed tone.
"And for my sake you allowed her to wait for you in vain?"
"It is as you say."
"And you had promised to seek her?"
"Certainly; but before the appointed hour came I met you. You rosebefore me like a new sun, shedding a new light that was full of promise.Everything else sank into darkness, and, if you will fulfil the hopewhich you awakened in this heart--"
Just at that moment another flash of lightning blazed, and, whilethe thunder still shook the air, Althea continued his interruptedprotestation: "Then you will give yourself to me, body and soul--butZeus, who hears oaths, is reminding us of his presence--and what willawait you if the Biamite whom you betrayed invokes the wrath of Nemesisagainst you?"
"The Nemesis of the barbarians!" he retorted contemptuously. "She onlyplaced herself at the service of my art reluctantly; but you, Althea,if you will loan yourself to me as a model, I shall succeed in doing myvery best; for you have just permitted me to behold a miracle, Arachneherself, whom you became, you enchantress. It was real, actual life, andthat--that is the highest goal."
"The highest?" she asked hesitatingly. "You will have to represent thefemale form, and beauty, Hermon, beauty?"
"Will be there, allied with truth," flamed Hermon, "if you, youpeerless, more than beautiful creature, keep your word to me. But youwill! Let me be sure of it. Is a little love also blended with the wishto serve the artist?"
"A little love?" she repeated scornfully.
"This matter concerns love complete and full--or none. We will see eachother again to-morrow. Then show me what the model Althea is worth toyou."
With these words she vanished in the darkness, while the call of hername again rang from the tents.
"Althea!" he cried in a tone of mournful reproach as he perceived herdisappearance, hurrying after her; but the dense gloom soon forced himto give up the pursuit.
Ledscha, too, left her place beneath the sycamore.
She had seen and heard enough.
Duty now commanded her to execute vengeance, and the bold Hanno wasready to risk his life for her.