Die Schwestern. English

  CHAPTER II.

  The low brick building of which the sisters' room formed a part, wascalled the Pastophorium, and it was occupied also by other personsattached to the service of the temple, and by numbers of pilgrims. Theseassembled here from all parts of Egypt, and were glad to pass a nightunder the protection of the sanctuary.

  Irene, when she quitted her sister, went past many doors--which hadbeen thrown open after sunrise--hastily returning the greetings of manystrange as well as familiar faces, for all glanced after her kindly asthough to see her thus early were an omen of happy augury, and she soonreached an outbuilding adjoining the northern end of the Pastophorium;here there was no door, but at the level of about a man's height fromthe ground there were six unclosed windows opening on the road. From thefirst of these the pale and much wrinkled face of an old man looked downon the girl as she approached. She shouted up to him in cheerful accentsthe greeting familiar to the Hellenes "Rejoice!" But he, without movinghis lips, gravely and significantly signed to her with his lean handand with a glance from his small, fixed and expressionless eyes that sheshould wait, and then handed out to her a wooden trencher on which lay afew dates and half a cake of bread.

  "For the altar of the god?" asked the girl. The old man nodded assent,and Irene went on with her small load, with the assurance of a personwho knows exactly what is required of her; but after going a few stepsand before she had reached the last of the six windows she paused, forshe plainly heard voices and steps, and presently, at the end of thePastophorium towards which she was proceeding and which opened into asmall grove of acacias dedicated to Serapis--which was of much greaterextent outside the enclosing wall--appeared a little group of men whoseappearance attracted her attention; but she was afraid to go on towardsthe strangers, so, leaning close up to the wall of the houses, sheawaited their departure, listening the while to what they were saying.

  In front of these early visitors to the temple walked a man with a longstaff in his right hand speaking to the two gentlemen who followed, withthe air of a professional guide, who is accustomed to talk as if he werereading to his audience out of an invisible book, and whom the hearersare unwilling to interrupt with questions, because they know that hisknowledge scarcely extends beyond exactly what he says. Of his tworemarkable-looking hearers one was wrapped in a long and splendid robeand wore a rich display of gold chains and rings, while the other worenothing over his short chiton but a Roman toga thrown over his leftshoulder.

  His richly attired companion was an old man with a full and beardlessface and thin grizzled hair. Irene gazed at him with admiration andastonishment, but when she had feasted her eyes on the stuffs andornaments he wore, she fixed them with much greater interest andattention on the tall and youthful figure at his side.

  "Like Hui, the cook's fat poodle, beside a young lion," thought she toherself, as she noted the bustling step of the one and the independentand elastic gait of the other. She felt irresistibly tempted to mimicthe older man, but this audacious impulse was soon quelled for scarcelyhad the guide explained to the Roman that it was here that those piousrecluses had their cells who served the god in voluntary captivity, asbeing consecrated to Serapis, and that they received their food throughthose windows--here he pointed upwards with his staff when suddenly ashutter, which the cicerone of this ill-matched pair had touched withhis stick, flew open with as much force and haste as if a violent gustof wind had caught it, and flung it back against the wall.--And no lesssuddenly a man's head-of ferocious aspect and surrounded by a shock ofgray hair like a lion's mane--looked out of the window and shouted tohim who had knocked, in a deep and somewhat overloud voice.

  "If my shutter had been your back, you impudent rascal, your stick wouldhave hit the right thing. Or if I had a cudgel between my teeth insteadof a tongue, I would exercise it on you till it was as tired as thatof a preacher who has threshed his empty straw to his congregation forthree mortal hours. Scarcely is the sun risen when we are plagued bythe parasitical and inquisitive mob. Why! they will rouse us at midnightnext, and throw stones at our rotten old shutters. The effects of mylast greeting lasted you for three weeks--to-day's I hope may act alittle longer. You, gentlemen there, listen to me. Just as the ravenfollows an army to batten on the dead, so that fellow there stalks onin front of strangers in order to empty their pockets--and you, who callyourself an interpreter, and in learning Greek have forgotten the littleEgyptian you ever knew, mark this: When you have to guide strangers takethem to see the Sphinx, or to consult the Apis in the temple of Ptah,or lead them to the king's beast-garden at Alexandria, or the tavernsat Hanopus, but don't bring them here, for we are neither pheasants, norflute-playing women, nor miraculous beasts, who take a pleasure in beingstared at. You, gentlemen, ought to choose a better guide than thischatter-mag that keeps up its perpetual rattle when once you set itgoing. As to yourselves I will tell you one thing: Inquisitive eyes areintrusive company, and every prudent house holder guards himself againstthem by keeping his door shut."

  Irene shrank back and flattened herself against the pilaster whichconcealed her, for the shutter closed again with a slam, the reclusepulling it to with a rope attached to its outer edge, and he was hiddenfrom the gaze of the strangers; but only for an instant, for the rustyhinges on which the shutter was hanging were not strong enough to bearsuch violent treatment, and slowly giving way it was about to fall. Theblustering hermit stretched out an arm to support it and save it; butit was heavy, and his efforts would not have succeeded had not the youngman in Roman dress given his assistance and lifted up the shutter withhis hand and shoulder, without any effort, as if it were made of willowlaths instead of strong planks.

  "A little higher still," shouted the recluse to his assistant. "Let usset the thing on its edge! so, push away, a little more. There, I havepropped up the wretched thing and there it may lie. If the bats pay me avisit to-night I will think of you and give them your best wishes."

  "You may save yourself that trouble," replied the young man with cooldignity. "I will send you a carpenter who shall refix the shutter, andwe offer you our apologies for having been the occasion of the mischiefthat has happened."

  The old man did not interrupt the speaker, but, when he had stared athim from head to foot, he said: "You are strong and you speak fairly,and I might like you well enough if you were in other company. I don'twant your carpenter; only send me down a hammer, a wedge, and a fewstrong nails. Now, you can do nothing more for me, so pack off!"

  "We are going at once," said the more handsomely dressed visitor in athin and effeminate voice. "What can a man do when the boys pelt himwith dirt from a safe hiding-place, but take himself off."

  "Be off, be off," said the person thus described, with a laugh. "Asfar off as Samothrace if you like, fat Eulaeus; you can scarcely haveforgotten the way there since you advised the king to escape thitherwith all his treasure. But if you cannot trust yourself to find italone, I recommend you your interpreter and guide there to show you theroad."

  The Eunuch Eulaeus, the favorite councillor of King Ptolemy--calledPhilometor (the lover of his mother)--turned pale at these words, casta sinister glance at the old man and beckoned to the young Roman; hehowever was not inclined to follow, for the scolding old oddity hadtaken his fancy--perhaps because he was conscious that the old man,who generally showed no reserve in his dislikes, had a liking for him.Besides, he found nothing to object to in his opinion of his companions,so he turned to Eulaeus and said courteously:

  "Accept my best thanks for your company so far, and do not let me detainyou any longer from your more important occupations on my account."

  Eulaeus bowed and replied, "I know what my duty is. The king entrustedme with your safe conduct; permit me therefore to wait for you under theacacias yonder."

  When Eulaeus and the guide had reached the green grove, Irene hoped tofind an opportunity to prefer her petition, but the Roman had stopped infront of the old man's cell, and had begun a conversation with him whichshe could not venture t
o interrupt. She set down the platter with thebread and dates that had been entrusted to her on a projecting stoneby her side with a little sigh, crossed her arms and feet as she leanedagainst the wall, and pricked up her ears to hear their talk.

  "I am not a Greek," said the youth, "and you are quite mistaken inthinking that I came to Egypt and to see you out of mere curiosity."

  "But those who come only to pray in the temple," interrupted the other,"do not--as it seems to me--choose an Eulaeus for a companion, or anysuch couple as those now waiting for you under the acacias, and invokinganything rather than blessings on your head; at any rate, for my ownpart, even if I were a thief I would not go stealing in their company.What then brought you to Serapis?"

  "It is my turn now to accuse you of curiosity!"

  "By all means," cried the old man, "I am an honest dealer and quitewilling to take back the coin I am ready to pay away. Have you come tohave a dream interpreted, or to sleep in the temple yonder and have aface revealed to you?"

  "Do I look so sleepy," said the Roman, "as to want to go to bed againnow, only an hour after sunrise?"

  "It may be," said the recluse, "that you have not yet fairly come to theend of yesterday, and that at the fag-end of some revelry it occurred toyou that you might visit us and sleep away your headache at Serapis."

  "A good deal of what goes on outside these walls seems to come to yourears," retorted the Roman, "and if I were to meet you in the streetI should take you for a ship's captain or a master-builder who had tomanage a number of unruly workmen. According to what I heard of you andthose like you in Athens and elsewhere, I expected to find you somethingquite different."

  "What did you expect?" said Serapion laughing. "I ask younotwithstanding the risk of being again considered curious."

  "And I am very willing to answer," retorted the other, "but if I were totell you the whole truth I should run into imminent danger of being sentoff as ignominiously as my unfortunate guide there."

  "Speak on," said the old man, "I keep different garments for differentmen, and the worst are not for those who treat me to that rare dish--alittle truth. But before you serve me up so bitter a meal tell me, whatis your name?"

  "Shall I call the guide?" said the Roman with an ironical laugh. "Hecan describe me completely, and give you the whole history of my family.But, joking apart, my name is Publius."

  "The name of at least one out of every three of your countrymen."

  "I am of the Cornelia gens and of the family of the Scipios," continuedthe youth in a low voice, as though he would rather avoid boasting ofhis illustrious name.

  "Indeed, a noble gentleman, a very grand gentleman!" said the recluse,bowing deeply out of his window. "But I knew that beforehand, for atyour age and with such slender ankles to his long legs only a noblemancould walk as you walk. Then Publius Cornelius--"

  "Nay, call me Scipio, or rather by my first name only, Publius," theyouth begged him. "You are called Serapion, and I will tell you what youwish to know. When I was told that in this temple there were people whohad themselves locked into their little chambers never to quit them,taking thought about their dreams and leading a meditative life, Ithought they must be simpletons or fools or both at once."

  "Just so, just so," interrupted Serapion. "But there is a fourthalternative you did not think of. Suppose now among these men thereshould be some shut up against their will, and what if I were one ofthose prisoners? I have asked you a great many questions and you havenot hesitated to answer, and you may know how I got into this miserablecage and why I stay in it. I am the son of a good family, for my fatherwas overseer of the granaries of this temple and was of Macedonianorigin, but my mother was an Egyptian. I was born in an evil hour, onthe twenty-seventh day of the month of Paophi, a day which it is said inthe sacred books that it is an evil day and that the child that isborn in it must be kept shut up or else it will die of a snake-bite. Inconsequence of this luckless prediction many of those born on the sameday as myself were, like me, shut up at an early age in this cage. Myfather would very willingly have left me at liberty, but my uncle, acaster of horoscopes in the temple of Ptah, who was all in all in mymother's estimation, and his friends with him, found many other evilsigns about my body, read misfortune for me in the stars, declared thatthe Hathors had destined me to nothing but evil, and set upon her sopersistently that at last I was destined to the cloister--we lived hereat Memphis. I owe this misery to my dear mother and it was out of pureaffection that she brought it upon me. You look enquiringly at me--aye,boy! life will teach you too the lesson that the worst hate that canbe turned against you often entails less harm upon you than blindtenderness which knows no reason. I learned to read and write, and allthat is usually taught to the priests' sons, but never to accommodatemyself to my lot, and I never shall.--Well, when my beard grew Isucceeded in escaping and I lived for a time in the world. I have beeneven to Rome, to Carthage, and in Syria; but at last I longed to drinkNile-water once more and I returned to Egypt. Why? Because, fool that Iwas, I fancied that bread and water with captivity tasted better inmy own country than cakes and wine with freedom in the land of thestranger.

  "In my father's house I found only my mother still living, for my fatherhad died of grief. Before my flight she had been a tall, fine woman,when I came home I found her faded and dying. Anxiety for me, amiserable wretch, had consumed her, said the physician--that was thehardest thing to bear. When at last the poor, good little woman, whocould so fondly persuade me--a wild scamp--implored me on her death-bedto return to my retreat, I yielded, and swore to her that I would stayin my prison patiently to the end, for I am as water is in northerncountries, a child may turn me with its little hand or else I am as hardand as cold as crystal. My old mother died soon after I had taken thisoath. I kept my word as you see--and you have seen too how I endure myfate."

  "Patiently enough," replied Publius, "I should writhe in my chains farmore rebelliously than you, and I fancy it must do you good to rage andstorm sometimes as you did just now."

  "As much good as sweet wine from Chios!" exclaimed the anchorite,smacking his lips as if he tasted the noble juice of the grape, andstretching his matted head as far as possible out of the window. Thus ithappened that he saw Irene, and called out to her in a cheery voice:

  "What are you doing there, child? You are standing as if you werewaiting to say good-morning to good fortune."

  The girl hastily took up the trencher, smoothed down her hair with herother hand, and as she approached the men, coloring slightly, Publiusfeasted his eyes on her in surprise and admiration.

  But Serapion's words had been heard by another person, who now emergedfrom the acacia-grove and joined the young Roman, exclaiming before hecame up with them:

  "Waiting for good fortune! does the old man say? And you can hear itsaid, Publius, and not reply that she herself must bring good fortunewherever she appears."

  The speaker was a young Greek, dressed with extreme care, and he nowstuck the pomegranate-blossom he carried in his hand behind his ear,so as to shake hands with his friend Publius; then he turned his fair,saucy, almost girlish face with its finely-cut features up to therecluse, wishing to attract his attention to himself by his next speech.

  "With Plato's greeting 'to deal fairly and honestly' do I approach you!"he cried; and then he went on more quietly: "But indeed you can hardlyneed such a warning, for you belong to those who know how to conquertrue--that is the inner--freedom; for who can be freer than he who needsnothing? And as none can be nobler than the freest of the free, acceptthe tribute of my respect, and scorn not the greeting of Lysias ofCorinth, who, like Alexander, would fain exchange lots with you, theDiogenes of Egypt, if it were vouchsafed to him always to see out thewindow of your mansion--otherwise not very desirable--the charming formof this damsel--"

  "That is enough, young man," said Serapion, interrupting the Greek'sflow of words. "This young girl belongs to the temple, and any one whois tempted to speak to her as if she were a flute-player will ha
ve todeal with me, her protector. Yes, with me; and your friend here willbear me witness that it may not be altogether to your advantage to havea quarrel with such as I. Now, step back, young gentlemen, and let thegirl tell me what she needs."

  When Irene stood face to face with the anchorite, and had told himquickly and in a low voice what she had done, and that her sister Kleawas even now waiting for her return, Serapion laughed aloud, and thensaid in a low tone, but gaily, as a father teases his daughter:

  "She has eaten enough for two, and here she stands, on her tiptoes,reaching up to my window, as if it were not an over-fed girl that stoodin her garments, but some airy sprite. We may laugh, but Klea, poorthing, she must be hungry?"

  Irene made no reply, but she stood taller on tiptoe than ever, put herface up to Serapion, nodding her pretty head at him again and again, andas she looked roguishly and yet imploringly into his eyes Serapion wenton:

  "And so I am to give my breakfast to Klea, that is what you want; butunfortunately that breakfast is a thing of the past and beyond recall;nothing is left of it but the date-stones. But there, on the trencher inyour hand, is a nice little meal."

  "That is the offering to Serapis sent by old Phibis," answered the girl.

  "Hm, hm--oh! of course!" muttered the old man. "So long as it is for agod--surely he might do without it better than a poor famishing girl."

  Then he went on, gravely and emphatically, as a teacher who has made anincautious speech before his pupils endeavors to rectify it by anotherof more solemn import.

  "Certainly, things given into our charge should never be touched;besides, the gods first and man afterwards. Now if only I knew whatto do. But, by the soul of my father! Serapis himself sends us what weneed. Step close up to me, noble Scipio--or Publius, if I may so callyou--and look out towards the acacias. Do you see my favorite, yourcicerone, and the bread and roast fowls that your slave has brought himin that leathern wallet? And now he is setting a wine-jar on the carpethe has spread at the big feet of Eulaeus--they will be calling you toshare the meal in a minute, but I know of a pretty child who is veryhungry--for a little white cat stole away her breakfast this morning.Bring me half a loaf and the wing of a fowl, and a few pomegranates ifyou like, or one of the peaches Eulaeus is so judiciously fingering.Nay--you may bring two of them, I have a use for both."

  "Serapion!" exclaimed Irene in mild reproof and looking down at theground; but the Greek answered with prompt zeal, "More, much more thanthat I can bring you. I hasten--"

  "Stay here," interrupted Publius with decision, holding him back by theshoulder. "Serapion's request was addressed to me, and I prefer to do myfriend's pleasure in my own person."

  "Go then," cried the Greek after Publius as he hurried away. "You willnot allow me even thanks from the sweetest lips in Memphis. Only look,Serapion, what a hurry he is in. And now poor Eulaeus has to get up;a hippopotamus might learn from him how to do so with due awkwardness.Well! I call that making short work of it--a Roman never asks before hetakes; he has got all he wants and Eulaeus looks after him like a cowwhose calf has been stolen from her; to be sure I myself would rathereat peaches than see them carried away! Oh if only the people in theForum could see him now! Publius Cornelius Scipio Nasica, own grandsonto the great Africanus, serving like a slave at a feast with a dish ineach hand! Well Publius, what has Rome the all conquering brought homethis time in token of victory?"

  "Sweet peaches and a roast pheasant," said Cornelius laughing, and hehanded two dishes into the anchorite's window; "there is enough leftstill for the old man."

  "Thanks, many thanks!" cried Serapion, beckoning to Irene, and he gaveher a golden-yellow cake of wheaten bread, half of the roast bird,already divided by Eulaeus, and two peaches, and whispered to her: "Kleamay come for the rest herself when these men are gone. Now thank thiskind gentleman and go."

  For an instant the girl stood transfixed, her face crimson withconfusion and her glistening white teeth set in her nether lip,speechless, face to face with the young Roman and avoiding the earnestgaze of his black eyes. Then she collected herself and said:

  "You are very kind. I cannot make any pretty speeches, but I thank youmost kindly."

  "And your very kind thanks," replied Publius, "add to the delights ofthis delightful morning. I should very much like to possess one of theviolets out of your hair in remembrance of this day--and of you."

  "Take them all," exclaimed Irene, hastily taking the bunch from her hairand holding them out to the Roman; but before he could take them shedrew back her hand and said with an air of importance:

  "The queen has had them in her hand. My sister Klea got them yesterdayin the procession."

  Scipio's face grew grave at these words, and he asked with commandingbrevity and sharpness:

  "Has your sister black hair and is she taller than you are, and did shewear a golden fillet in the procession? Did she give you these flowers?Yes--do you say? Well then, she had the bunch from me, but although sheaccepted them she seems to have taken very little pleasure in them, forwhat we value we do not give away--so there they may go, far enough!"

  With these words he flung the flowers over the house and then he wenton:

  "But you, child, you shall be held guiltless of their loss. Give me yourpomegranate-flower, Lysias!"

  "Certainly not," replied the Greek. "You chose to do pleasure to yourfriend Serapion in your own person when you kept me from going to fetchthe peaches, and now I desire to offer this flower to the fair Irenewith my own hand."

  "Take this flower," said Publius, turning his back abruptly on the girl,while Lysias laid the blossom on the trencher in the maiden's hand; shefelt the rough manners of the young Roman as if she had been touched bya hard hand; she bowed silently and timidly and then quickly ran home.

  Publius looked thoughtfully after her till Lysias called out to him:

  "What has come over me? Has saucy Eros perchance wandered by mistakeinto the temple of gloomy Serapis this morning?"

  "That would not be wise," interrupted the recluse, "for Cerberus, wholies at the foot of our God, would soon pluck the fluttering wings ofthe airy youngster," and as he spoke he looked significantly at theGreek.

  "Aye! if he let himself be caught by the three-headed monster," laughedLysias. "But come away now, Publius; Eulaeus has waited long enough."

  "You go to him then," answered the Roman, "I will follow soon; but firstI have a word to say to Serapion."

  Since Irene's disappearance, the old man had turned his attention to theacacia-grove where Eulaeus was still feasting. When the Roman addressedhim he said, shaking his great head with dissatisfaction:

  "Your eyes of course are no worse than mine. Only look at that manmunching and moving his jaws and smacking his lips. By Serapis! you cantell the nature of a man by watching him eat. You know I sit in my cageunwillingly enough, but I am thankful for one thing about it, and thatis that it keeps me far from all that such a creature as Eulaeus callsenjoyment--for such enjoyment, I tell you, degrades a man."

  "Then you are more of a philosopher than you wish to seem," repliedPublius.

  "I wish to seem nothing," answered the anchorite.

  "For it is all the same to me what others think of me. But if a man whohas nothing to do and whose quiet is rarely disturbed, and who thinkshis own thoughts about many things is a philosopher, you may call meone if you like. If at any time you should need advice you may comehere again, for I like you, and you might be able to do me an importantservice."

  "Only speak," interrupted the Roman, "I should be glad from my heart tobe of any use to you."

  "Not now," said Serapion softly. "But come again when you havetime--without your companions there, of course--at any rate withoutEulaeus, who of all the scoundrels I ever came across is the very worst.It may be as well to tell you at once that what I might require of youwould concern not myself but the weal or woe of the water-bearers, thetwo maidens you have seen and who much need protection."

  "I came here for my parents'
sake and for Klea's, and not on youraccount," said Publius frankly. "There is something in her mien and inher eyes which perhaps may repel others but which attracts me. How cameso admirable a creature in your temple?"

  "When you come again," replied the recluse, "I will tell you the historyof the sisters and what they owe to Eulaeus. Now go, and understandme when I say the girls are well guarded. This observation is for thebenefit of the Greek who is but a heedless fellow; but you, when youknow who the girls are, will help me to protect them."

  "That I would do as it is, with real pleasure," replied Publius; he tookleave of the recluse and called out to Eulaeus.

  "What a delightful morning it has been!"

  "It would have been pleasanter for me," replied Eulaeus, "if you had notdeprived me of your company for such a long time."

  "That is to say," answered the Roman, "that I have stayed away longerthan I ought."

  "You behave after the fashion of your race," said the other bowing low."They have kept even kings waiting in their ante-chambers."

  "But you do not wear a crown," said Publius evasively. "And if any oneshould know how to wait it is an old courtier, who--"

  "When it is at the command of his sovereign," interrupted Eulaeus, "theold courtier may submit, even when youngsters choose to treat him withcontempt."

  "That hits us both," said Publius, turning to Lysias. "Now you mayanswer him, I have heard and said enough."