CHAPTER XIV.
The temple of Serapis lay in restful silence, enveloped in darkness,which so far hid its four wings from sight as to give it the aspect of asingle rock-like mass wrapped in purple mist.
Outside the temple precincts too all had been still; but just now aclatter of hoofs and rumble of wheels was audible through the silence,otherwise so profound that it seemed increased by every sound. Beforethe vehicle which occasioned this disturbance had reached the temple,it stopped, just outside the sacred acacia-grove, for the neighing of ahorse was now audible in that direction.
It was one of the king's horses that neighed; Lysias, the Greek, tiedhim up to a tree by the road at the edge of the grove, flung his mantleover the loins of the smoking beast; and feeling his way from tree totree soon found himself by the Well of the Sun where he sat down on themargin.
Presently from the east came a keen, cold breeze, the harbinger ofsunrise; the gray gloaming began by degrees to pierce and part the topsof the tall trees, which, in the darkness, had seemed a compact blackroof. The crowing of cocks rang out from the court-yard of the temple,and, as the Corinthian rose with a shiver to warm himself by a rapidwalk backwards and forwards, he heard a door creak near the outer wallof the temple, of which the outline now grew sharper and clearer everyinstant in the growing light.
He now gazed with eager observation down the path which, as the dayapproached, stood out with increasing clearness from the surroundingshades, and his heart began to beat faster as he perceived a figureapproaching the well, with rapid steps. It was a human form thatadvanced towards him--only one--no second figure accompanied it; but itwas not a man--no, a woman in a long robe. Still, she for whom he waitedwas surely smaller than the woman, who now came near to him. Was it theelder and not the younger sister, whom alone he was anxious to speakwith, who came to the well this morning?
He could now distinguish her light foot-fall--now she was divided fromhim by a young acacia-shrub which hid her from his gaze-now she setdown two water-jars on the ground--now she briskly lifted the bucket andfilled the vessel she held in her left hand--now she looked towards theeastern horizon, where the dim light of dawn grew broader and brighter,and Lysias thought he recognized Irene--and now--Praised be the gods!he was sure; before him stood the younger and not the elder sister; thevery maiden whom he sought.
Still half concealed by the acacia-shrub, and in a soft voice so as notto alarm her, he called Irene's name, and the poor child's blood frozewith terror, for never before had she been startled by a man here, andat this hour. She stood as if rooted to the spot, and, trembling withfright, she pressed the cold, wet, golden jar, sacred to the god,closely to her bosom.
Lysias repeated her name, a little louder than before, and went on, butin a subdued voice:
"Do not be frightened, Irene; I am Lysias, the Corinthian--your friend,whose pomegranate-blossom you wore yesterday, and who spoke to you afterthe procession. Let me bid you good morning!"
At these words the girl let her hand fall by her side, still holding thejar, and pressing her right hand to her heart, she exclaimed, drawing adeep breath:
"How dreadfully you frightened me! I thought some wandering soul wascalling me that had not yet returned to the nether world, for it is nottill the sun rises that spirits are scared away."
"But it cannot scare men of flesh and blood whose purpose is good. I,you may believe me, would willingly stay with you, till Helios departsagain, if you would permit me."
"I can neither permit nor forbid you anything," answered Irene. "But,how came you here at this hour?"
"In a chariot," replied Lysias smiling.
"That is nonsense--I want to know what you came to the Well of the Sunfor at such an hour."
"I What but for you yourself? You told me yesterday that you were gladto sleep, and so am I; still, to see you once more, I have been only toglad to shorten my night's rest considerably."
"But, how did you know?"
"You yourself told me yesterday at what time you were allowed to leavethe temple."
"Did I tell you? Great Serapis! how light it is already. I shall bepunished if the water-jar is not standing on the altar by sunrise, andthere is Klea's too to be filled."
"I will fill it for you directly--there--that is done; and now I willcarry them both for you to the end of the grove, if you will promise meto return soon, for I have many things to ask you."
"Go on--only go on," said the girl; "I know very little; but ask away,though you will not find much to be made of any answers that I cangive."
"Oh! yes, indeed, I shall--for instance, if I asked you to tell me allabout your parents. My friend Publius, whom you know, and I also haveheard how cruelly and unjustly they were punished, and we would gladlydo much to procure their release."
"I will come--I will be sure to come," cried Irene loudly and eagerly,"and shall I bring Klea with me? She was called up in the middle of thenight by the gatekeeper, whose child is very ill. My sister is very fondof it, and Philo will only take his medicine from her. The little onehad gone to sleep in her lap, and his mother came and begged me to fetchthe water for us both. Now give me the jars, for none but we may enterthe temple."
"There they are. Do not disturb your sister on my account in her care ofthe poor little boy, for I might indeed have one or two things to say toyou which she need not hear, and which might give you pleasure. Now, Iam going back to the well, so farewell! But do not let me have to waitvery long for you." He spoke in a tender tone of entreaty, and the girlanswered low and rapidly as she hurried away from him:
"I will come when the sun is up."
The Corinthian looked after her till she had vanished within the temple,and his heart was stirred--stirred as it had not been for many years.He could not help recalling the time when he would teaze his youngersister, then still quite a child, putting her to the test by asking her,with a perfectly grave face, to give him her cake or her apple whichhe did not really want at all. The little one had almost always put thething he asked for to his mouth with her tiny hands, and then he hadoften felt exactly as he felt now.
Irene too was still but a child, and no less guileless than his darlingin his own home; and just as his sister had trusted him--offering himthe best she had to give--so this simple child trusted him; him, theprofligate Lysias, before whom all the modest women of Corinth castdown their eyes, while fathers warned their growing-up sons against him;trusted him with her virgin self--nay, as he thought, her sacred person.
"I will do thee no harm, sweet child!" he murmured to himself, as hepresently turned on his heel to return to the well. He went forwardquickly at first, but after a few steps he paused before the marvellousand glorious picture that met his gaze. Was Memphis in flames? Had firefallen to burn up the shroud of mist which had veiled his way to thetemple?
The trunks of the acacia-trees stood up like the blackened pillars of aburning city, and behind them the glow of a conflagration blazed highup to the heavens. Beams of violet and gold slipped and sparkled betweenthe boughs, and danced among the thorny twigs, the white racemes offlowers, and the tufts of leaves with their feathery leaflets; theclouds above were fired with tints more pure and tender than those ofthe roses with which Cleopatra had decked herself for the banquet.
Not like this did the sun rise in his own country! Or, was it perhapsonly that in Corinth or in Athens at break of day, as he staggeredhome drunk from some feast, he had looked more at the earth than at theheavens?
His horses began now to neigh loudly as if to greet the steeds of thecoming Sun-god. Lysias hurried to them through the grove, patted theirshining necks with soothing words, and stood looking down at the vastcity at his feet, over which hung a film of violet mist--at the solemnPyramids, over which the morning glow flung a gay robe of rose-color--onthe huge temple of Ptah, with the great colossi in front of itspylons--on the Nile, mirroring the glory of the sky, and on thelimestone hills behind the villages of Babylon and Troy, about which hehad, only yesterday, heard a Je
w at the king's table relating a legendcurrent among his countrymen to the effect that these hills had beenobliged to give up all their verdure to grace the mounts of the sacredcity Hierosolyma.
The rocky cliffs of this barren range glowed at this moment like thefire in the heart of the great ruby which had clasped the festal robe ofKing Euergetes across his bull-neck, as it reflected the shimmer ofthe tapers: and Lysias saw the day-star rising behind the range withblinding radiance, shooting forth rays like myriads of golden arrows, torout and destroy his foe, the darkness of night.
Eos, Helios, Phoebus Apollo--these had long been to him no more thannames, with which he associated certain phenomena, certain processes andideas; for he when he was not luxuriating in the bath, amusing himselfin the gymnasium, at cock or quail-fights, in the theatre or atDionysiac processions--was wont to exercise his wits in the schoolsof the philosophers, so as to be able to shine in bandying words atentertainments; but to-day, and face to face with this sunrise, hebelieved as in the days of his childhood--he saw in his mind's eye thegod riding in his golden chariot, and curbing his foaming steeds, hisshining train floating lightly round him, bearing torches or scatteringflowers--he threw up his arms with an impulse of devotion, prayingaloud:
"To-day I am happy and light of heart. To thy presence do I owe this,O! Phoebus Apollo, for thou art light itself. Oh! let thy favorscontinue--"
But he here broke off in his invocation, and dropped his arms, for heheard approaching footsteps. Smiling at his childish weakness--for suchhe deemed it that he should have prayed--and yet content from his piousimpulse, he turned his back on the sun, now quite risen, and stood faceto face with Irene who called out to him:
"I was beginning to think that you had got out of patience and had goneaway, when I found you no longer by the well. That distressed me--butyou were only watching Helios rise. I see it every day, and yet italways grieves me to see it as red as it was to-day, for our Egyptiannurse used to tell me that when the east was very red in the morning itwas because the Sun-god had slain his enemies, and it was their bloodthat colored the heavens, and the clouds and the hills."
"But you are a Greek," said Lysias, "and you must know that it is Eosthat causes these tints when she touches the horizon with her rosyfingers before Helios appears. Now to-day you are, to me, the rosy dawnpresaging a fine day."
"Such a ruddy glow as this," said Irene, "forebodes great heat, storms,and perhaps heavy rain, so the gatekeeper says; and he is always withthe astrologers who observe the stars and the signs in the heavens fromthe towers near the temple-gates. He is poor little Philo's father. Iwanted to bring Klea with me, for she knows more about our parents thanI do; but he begged me not to call her away, for the child's throat isalmost closed up, and if it cries much the physician says it will choke,and yet it is never quiet but when it is lying in Klea's arms. She is sogood--and she never thinks of herself; she has been ever since midnighttill now rocking that heavy child on her lap."
"We will talk with her presently," said the Corinthian. "But to-day itwas for your sake that I came; you have such merry eyes, and yourlittle mouth looks as if it were made for laughing, and not to singlamentations. How can you bear being always in that shut up dungeon withall those solemn men in their black and white robes?"
"There are some very good and kind ones among them. I am most fond ofold Krates, he looks gloomy enough at every one else; but with me onlyhe jokes and talks, and he often shows me such pretty and elegantlywrought things."
"Ah! I told you just now you are like the rosy dawn before whom alldarkness must vanish."
"If only you could know how thoughtless I can be, and how often I givetrouble to Klea, who never scolds me for it, you would be far fromcomparing me with a goddess. Little old Krates, too, often compares meto all sorts of pretty things, but that always sounds so comical that Icannot help laughing. I had much rather listen to you when you flatterme."
"Because I am young and youth suits with youth. Your sister is older,and so much graver than you are. Have you never had a companion ofyour own age whom you could play with, and to whom you could telleverything?"
"Oh! yes when I was still very young; but since my parents fell intotrouble, and we have lived here in the temple, I have always been alonewith Klea. What do you want to know about my father?"
"That I will ask you by-and-by. Now only tell me, have you never playedat hide and seek with other girls? May you never look on at the merrydoings in the streets at the Dionysiac festivals? Have you ever riddenin a chariot?"
"I dare say I have, long ago--but I have forgotten it. How should I haveany chance of such things here in the temple? Klea says it is no goodeven to think of them. She tells me a great deal about our parents--howmy mother took care of us, and what my father used to say. Has anythinghappened that may turn out favorably for him? Is it possible that theking should have learned the truth? Make haste and ask your questions atonce, for I have already been too long out here."
The impatient steeds neighed again as she spoke, and Lysias, to whomthis chat with Irene was perfectly enchanting, but who nevertheless hadnot for a moment lost sight of his object, hastily pointed to the spotwhere his horses were standing, and said:
"Did you hear the neighing of those mettlesome horses? They brought mehither, and I can guide them well; nay, at the last Isthmian games I wonthe crown with my own quadriga. You said you had never ridden standingin a chariot. How would you like to try for once how it feels? I willdrive you with pleasure up and down behind the grove for a littlewhile."
Irene heard this proposal with sparkling eyes and cried, as she clappedher hands:
"May I ride in a chariot with spirited horses, like the queen? Oh!impossible! Where are your horses standing?"
In this instant she had forgotten Klea, the duty which called her backto the temple, even her parents, and she followed the Corinthian withwinged steps, sprang into the two-wheeled chariot, and clung fast to thebreastwork, as Lysias took his place by her side, seized the reins,and with a strong and practised hand curbed the mettle of his spiritedsteeds.
She stood perfectly guileless and undoubting by his side, and whollyat his mercy as the chariot rattled off; but, unknown to herself,beneficent powers were shielding her with buckler and armor--herchildlike innocence, and that memory of her parents which her tempterhimself had revived in her mind, and which soon came back in vividstrength.
Breathing deep with excitement, and filled with such rapture as a birdmay feel when it first soars from its narrow nest high up into the ethershe cried out again and again:
"Oh, this is delightful! this is splendid!" and then:
"How we rush through the air as if we were swallows! Faster, Lysias,faster! No, no--that is too fast; wait a little that I may not fall! Oh,I am not frightened; it is too delightful to cut through the air justas a Nile boat cuts through the stream in a storm, and to feel it on myface and neck."
Lysias was very close to her; when, at her desire, he urged his horsesto their utmost pace, and saw her sway, he involuntarily put out hishand to hold her by the girdle; but Irene avoided his grasp, pressingclose against the side of the chariot next her, and every time hetouched her she drew her arm close up to her body, shrinking togetherlike the fragile leaf of a sensitive plant when it is touched by someforeign object.
She now begged the Corinthian to allow her to hold the reins for alittle while, and he immediately acceded to her request, giving theminto her hand, though, stepping behind her, he carefully kept the endsof them in his own. He could now see her shining hair, the graceful ovalof her head, and her white throat eagerly bent forward; an indescribablelonging came over him to press a kiss on her head; but he forbore, forhe remembered his friend's words that he would fulfil the part of aguardian to these girls. He too would be a protector to her, aye andmore than that, he would care for her as a father might. Still, as oftenas the chariot jolted over a stone, and he touched her to support her,the suppressed wish revived, and once when her hair was blown quitec
lose to his lips he did indeed kiss it--but only as a friend or abrother might. Still, she must have felt the breath from his lips, forshe turned round hastily, and gave him back the reins; then, pressingher hand to her brow, she said in a quite altered voice--not unmixedwith a faint tone of regret:
"This is not right--please now to turn the horses round."
Lysias, instead of obeying her, pulled at the reins to urge the horsesto a swifter pace, and before he could find a suitable answer, she hadglanced up at the sun, and pointing to the east she exclaimed:
"How late it is already! what shall I say if I have been looked for, andthey ask me where I have been so long? Why don't you turn round--nor askme anything about my parents?"
The last words broke from her with vehemence, and as Lysias did notimmediately reply nor make any attempt to check the pace of the horses,she herself seized the reins exclaiming:
"Will you turn round or no?"
"No!" said the Greek with decision. "But--"
"And this is what you intended!" shrieked the girl, beside herself. "Youmeant to carry me off by stratagem--but wait, only wait--"
And before Lysias could prevent her she had turned round, and waspreparing to spring from the chariot as it rushed onwards; but hercompanion was quicker than she; he clutched first at her robe and thenher girdle, put his arm round her waist, and in spite of her resistancepulled her back into the chariot.
Trembling, stamping her little feet and with tears in her eyes, shestrove to free her girdle from his grasp; he, now bringing his horses toa stand-still, said kindly but earnestly:
"What I have done is the best that could happen to you, and I will eventurn the horses back again if you command it, but not till you haveheard me; for when I got you into the chariot by stratagem it wasbecause I was afraid that you would refuse to accompany me, and yet Iknew that every delay would expose you to the most hideous peril. I didnot indeed take a base advantage of your father's name, for my friendPublius Scipio, who is very influential, intends to do everything in hispower to procure his freedom and to reunite you to him. But, Irene,that could never have happened if I had left you where you have hithertolived."
During this discourse the girl had looked at Lysias in bewilderment, andshe interrupted him with the exclamation:
"But I have never done any one an injury! Who can gain any benefit bypersecuting a poor creature like me:
"Your father was the most righteous of men," replied Lysias, "andnevertheless he was carried off into torments like a criminal. It is notonly the unrighteous and the wicked that are persecuted. Have you everheard of King Euergetes, who, at his birth, was named the 'well-doer,'and who has earned that of the 'evil doer' by his crimes? He has heardthat you are fair, and he is about to demand of the high-priest that heshould surrender you to him. If Asclepiodorus agrees--and what can hedo against the might of a king--you will be made the companion offlute-playing girls and painted women, who riot with drunken men at hiswild carousals and orgies, and if your parents found you thus, betterwould it be for them--"
"Is it true, all you are telling me?" asked Irene with flaming cheeks.
"Yes," answered Lysias firmly. "Listen Irene--I have a father and adear mother and a sister, who is like you, and I swear to you by theirheads--by those whose names never passed my lips in the presence of anyother woman I ever sued to--that I am speaking the simple truth; that Iseek nothing but only to save you; that if you desire it, as soon as Ihave hidden you I will never see you again, terribly hard as thatwould be to me--for I love you so dearly, so deeply--poor sweet littleIrene--as you can never imagine."
Lysias took the girl's hand, but she withdrew it hastily, and raisingher eyes, full of tears, to meet his she said clearly and firmly:
"I believe you, for no man could speak like that and betray another. Buthow do you know all this? Where are you taking me? Will Klea follow me?"
"At first you shall be concealed with the family of a worthy sculptor.We will let Klea know this very day of all that has happened to you, andwhen we have obtained the release of your parents then--but--Help us,protecting Zeus! Do you see the chariot yonder? I believe those are thewhite horses of the Eunuch Eulaeus, and if he were to see us here, allwould be lost! Hold tight, we must go as fast as in a chariot race.There, now the hill hides us, and down there, by the little temple ofIsis, the wife of your future host is already waiting for you; she is nodoubt sitting in the closed chariot near the palm-trees.
"Yes, certainly, certainly, Klea shall hear all, so that she may notbe uneasy about you! I must say farewell to you directly and then,afterwards, sweet Irene, will you sometimes think of the unhappy Lysias;or did Aurora, who greeted him this morning, so bright and full of happypromise, usher in a day not of joy but of sorrow and regret?" The Greekdrew in rein as he spoke, bringing his horses to a sober pace, andlooked tenderly in Irene's eyes. She returned his gaze with heart-feltemotion, but her gunny glance was dimmed with tears.
"Say something," entreated the Greek. "Will you not forget me? And may Isoon visit you in your new retreat?"
Irene would so gladly have said yes--and yes again, a thousand timesyes; and yet she, who was so easily carried away by every little emotionof her heart, in this supreme moment found strength enough to snatchher hand from that of the Greek, who had again taken it, and to answerfirmly:
"I will remember you for ever and ever, but you must not come to see metill I am once more united to my Klea."
"But Irene, consider, if now--" cried Lysias much agitated.
"You swore to me by the heads of your nearest kin to obey my wishes,"interrupted the girl. "Certainly I trust you, and all the more readilybecause you are so good to me, but I shall not do so any more if you donot keep your word. Look, here comes a lady to meet us who looks likea friend. She is already waving her hand to me. Yes, I will go with hergladly, and yet I am so anxious--so troubled, I cannot tell you--but Iam so thankful too! Think of me sometimes, Lysias, and of our journeyhere, and of our talk, and of my parents: I entreat you, do for them allyou possibly can. I wish I could help crying--but I cannot!"