CHAPTER XXII.
On the roof of the tower of the pylon by the gate of the Serapeum stoodan astrologer who had mounted to this, the highest part of the temple,to observe the stars; but it seemed that he was not destined on thisoccasion to fulfil his task, for swiftly driving black clouds sweptagain and again across that portion of the heavens to which hisobservations were principally directed. At last he impatiently laidaside his instruments, his waxed tablet and style, and desired thegate-keeper--the father of poor little Philo--whose duty it was toattend at night on the astrologers on the tower, to carry down all hisparaphernalia, as the heavens were not this evening favorable to hislabors.
"Favorable!" exclaimed the gate-keeper, catching up the astrologer'swords, and shrugging his shoulders so high that his head disappearedbetween them.
"It is a night of horror, and some great disaster threatens us forcertain. Fifteen years have I been in my place, and I never saw such anight but once before, and the very next day the soldiers of Antiochus,the Syrian king, came and plundered our treasury. Aye--and to-night isworse even than that was; when the dog-star first rose a horrible shapewith a lion's mane flew across the desert, but it was not till midnightthat the fearful uproar began, and even you shuddered when it broke outin the Apis-cave. Frightful things must be coming on us when the sacredbulls rise from the dead and butt and storm at the door with theirhorns to break it open. Many a time have I seen the souls of the deadfluttering and wheeling and screaming above the old mausoleums, androck-tombs of ancient times. Sometimes they would soar up in the air inthe form of hawks with men's heads, or like ibises with a slow laggingflight, and sometimes sweep over the desert like gray shapeless shadows,or glide across the sand like snakes; or they would creep out of thetombs, howling like hungry dogs. I have often heard them barking likejackals or laughing like hyenas when they scent carrion, but to-nightis the first time I ever heard them shrieking like furious men, and thengroaning and wailing as if they were plunged in the lake of fire andsuffering horrible torments.
"Look there--out there--something is moving again! Oh! holy father,exorcise them with some mighty bann. Do you not see how they are growinglarger? They are twice the size of ordinary mortals." The astronomertook an amulet in his hand, muttered a few sentences to himself,seeking at the same time to discover the figures which had so scared thegate-keeper.
"They are indeed tall," he said when he perceived them. "And now theyare melting into one, and growing smaller and smaller--however,perhaps they are only men come to rob the tombs, and who happen to beparticularly tall, for these figures are not of supernatural height."
"They are twice as tall as you, and you are not short," cried thegate-keeper, pressing his lips devoutly to the amulet the astrologerheld in his hand, "and if they are robbers why has no watchman calledout to stop them? How is it their screams and groans have not waked thesentinels that are posted there every night? There--that was anotherfearful cry! Did you ever hear such tones from any human breast? GreatSerapis, I shall die of fright! Come down with me, holy father, that Imay look after my little sick boy, for those who have seen such sightsdo not escape unstricken."
The peaceful silence of the Necropolis had indeed been disturbed, butthe spirits of the departed had no share in the horrors which had beentransacted this night in the desert, among the monuments and rocktombs.They were living men that had disturbed the calm of the sacred place,that had conspired with darkness in cold-blooded cruelty, greater thanthat of evil spirits, to achieve the destruction of a fellow-man; butthey were living men too who, in the midst of the horrors of a mostfearful night, had experienced the blossoming in their own souls of thedivinest germ which heaven implants in the bosom of its mortal children.Thus in a day of battle amid blood and slaughter may a child be bornthat shall grow up blessed and blessing, the comfort and joy of hisfamily.
The lion-maned monster whose appearance and rapid disappearance inthe desert had first alarmed the gate-keeper, had been met by severaltravellers on its way to Memphis, and each and all, horrified by itsuncanny aspect, had taken to flight or tried to hide themselves--andyet it was no more than a man with warm pulses, an honest purpose, anda true and loving heart. But those who met him could not see into hissoul, and his external aspect certainly bore little resemblance to thatof other men.
His feet, unused to walking, moved but clumsily, and had a heavy bodyto carry, and his enormous beard and the mass of gray hair on hishead--which he turned now this way and now that--gave him an aspect thatmight well scare even a bold man who should meet him unexpectedly. Twostall-keepers who, by day, were accustomed to offer their wares for salenear the Serapeum to the pilgrims, met him close to the city.
"Did you see that panting object?" said one to the other as they lookedafter him. "If he were not shut up fast in his cell I could declare itwas Serapion, the recluse."
"Nonsense," replied the other. "He is tied faster by his oath than bychains and fetters. It must be one of the Syrian beggars that besiegethe temple of Astarte."
"Perhaps," answered his companion with indifference. "Let us get on now,my wife has a roast goose for supper this evening."
Serapion, it is true, was fast tied to his cell, and yet the pedlerhad judged rightly, for he it was who hurried along the high-roadfrightening all he met. After his long captivity walking was verypainful to him; besides, he was barefoot, and every stone in thepath hurt the soles of his feet which had grown soft; nevertheless hecontrived to make a by no means contemptible pace when in the distancehe caught sight of a woman's figure which he could fancy to be Klea.Many a man, who in his own particular sphere of life can cut a veryrespectable figure, becomes a laughing-stock for children when he istaken out of his own narrow circle, and thrown into the turmoil ofthe world with all his peculiarities clinging to him. So it was withSerapion; in the suburbs the street-boys ran after him mocking at him,but it was not till three smart hussys, who were resting from theirdance in front of a tavern, laughed loudly as they caught sight of him,and an insolent soldier drove the point of his lance through his flowingmane, as if by accident, that he became fully conscious of his wildappearance, and it struck him forcibly that he could never in this guisefind admission to the king's palace.
With prompt determination he turned into the first barber's stall thathe saw lighted up; at his appearance the barber hastily retreated behindhis counter, but he got his hair and beard cut, and then, for the firsttime for many years, he saw his own face in the mirror that the barberheld before him. He nodded, with a melancholy smile, at the face--somuch aged--that looked at him from the bright surface, paid what wasasked, and did not heed the compassionate glance which the barber andhis assistant sent after him. They both thought they had been exercisingtheir skill on a lunatic, for he had made no answer to all theirquestions, and had said nothing but once in a deep and fearfully loudvoice:
"Chatter to other people--I am in a hurry."
In truth his spirit was in no mood for idle gossip; no, it was full ofgnawing anxiety and tender fears, and his heart bled when he reflectedthat he had broken his vows, and forsworn the oath he had made to hisdying mother.
When he reached the palace-gate he begged one of the civic guard toconduct him to his brother, and as he backed his request with a giftof money he was led at once to the man whom he sought. Glaucus wasexcessively startled to recognize Serapion, but he was so muchengaged that he could only give up a few minutes to his brother, whoseproceedings he considered as both inexplicable and criminal.
Irene, as the anchorite now learned, had been carried off from thetemple, not by Euergetes but by the Roman, and Klea had quitted thepalace only a few minutes since in a chariot and would return aboutmidnight and on foot from the second tavern to the temple. And the poorchild was so utterly alone, and her way lay through the desert where shemight be attacked by dissolute soldiery or tomb-robbers or jackals andhyenas. Her walk was to begin from the second tavern, and that was thevery spot where low rioters were wont to assemble--and his darling
wasso young, so fair, and so defenceless!
He was once more a prey to the same unendurable dread that had come overhim, in his cell, after Klea had left the temple and darkness had closedin. At that moment he had felt all that a father could feel who from hisprison-window sees his beloved and defenceless child snatched away bysome beast of prey. All the perils that could threaten her in the palaceor in the city, swarming with drunken soldiers, had risen before hismind with fearful vividness, and his powerful imagination had painted inglaring colors all the dangers to which his favorite--the daughter of anoble and respected man--might be exposed.
He rushed up and down his cell like a wounded tiger, he flung himselfagainst the walls, and then, with his body hanging far out of thewindow, had looked out to see if the girl--who could not possibly havereturned yet--were not come back again. The darker it grew, the more hisanguish rose, and the more hideous were the pictures that stood beforehis fancy; and when, presently, a pilgrim in the Pastophorium who hadfallen into convulsions screamed out loud, he was no longer master ofhimself--he kicked open the door which, locked on the outside and rottenfrom age, had been closed for years, hastily concealed about him somesilver coins he kept in his chest, and let himself down to the ground.
There he stood, between his cell and the outer wall of the temple, andnow it was that he remembered his vows, and the oath he had sworn,and his former flight from his retreat. Then he had fled because thepleasures and joys of life had tempted him forth--then he had sinnedindeed; but now the love, the anxious care that urged him to quit hisprison were the same as had brought him back to it. It was to keep faiththat he now broke faith, and mighty Serapis could read his heart, andhis mother was dead, and while she lived she had always been ready andwilling to forgive.
He fancied so vividly that he could see her kind old face looking at himthat he nodded at her as if indeed she stood before him.
Then, he rolled an empty barrel to the foot of the wall, and with somedifficulty mounted on it. The sweat poured down him as he climbed up thewall built of loose unbaked bricks to the parapet, which was much morethan a man's height; then, sliding and tumbling, he found himself in theditch which ran round it on the outside, scrambled up its outer slope,and set out at last on his walk to Memphis.
What he had afterwards learned in the palace concerning Klea had butlittle relieved his anxiety on her account; she must have reached theborder of the desert so much sooner than he, and quick walking was sodifficult to him, and hurt the soles of his feet so cruelly! Perhapshe might be able to procure a staff, but there was just as much bustleoutside the gate of the citadel as by day. He looked round him, feelingthe while in his wallet, which was well filled with silver, and his eyefell on a row of asses whose drivers were crowding round the soldiersand servants that streamed out of the great gate.
He sought out the strongest of the beasts with an experienced eye, flunga piece of silver to the owner, mounted the ass, which panted under itsload, and promised the driver two drachmm in addition if he would takehim as quickly as possible to the second tavern on the road to theSerapeum. Thus--he belaboring the sides of the unhappy donkey withhis sturdy bare legs, while the driver, running after him snortingand shouting, from time to time poked him up from behind with astick--Serapion, now going at a short trot, and now at a brisk gallop,reached his destination only half an hour later than Klea.
In the tavern all was dark and empty, but the recluse desired norefreshment. Only his wish that he had a staff revived in his mind, andhe soon contrived to possess himself of one, by pulling a stake outof the fence that surrounded the innkeeper's little garden. This wasa somewhat heavy walking-stick, but it eased the recluse's steps, forthough his hot and aching feet carried him but painfully the strength ofhis arms was considerable.
The quick ride had diverted his mind, had even amused him, for he waseasily pleased, and had recalled to him his youthful travels; but now,as he walked on alone in the desert, his thoughts reverted to Klea, andto her only.
He looked round for her keenly and eagerly as soon as the moon came outfrom behind the clouds, called her name from time to time, and thus gotas far as the avenue of sphinxes which connected the Greek and Egyptiantemples; a thumping noise fell upon his ear from the cave of theApis-tombs. Perhaps they were at work in there, preparing for theapproaching festival. But why were the soldiers, which were always onguard here, absent from their posts to-night? Could it be that they hadobserved Klea, and carried her off?
On the farther side of the rows of sphinxes too, which he had nowreached, there was not a man to be seen--not a watchman even though thewhite limestone of the tombstones and the yellow desert-sand shone asclear in the moonlight as if they had some internal light of their own.
At every instant he grew more and more uneasy, he climbed to the top ofa sand-hill to obtain a wider view, and loudly called Klea's name.
There--was he deceived? No--there was a figure visible near one of theancient tomb-shrines--a form that seemed wrapped in a long robe, andwhen once more he raised his voice in a loud call it came nearer to himand to the row of sphinxes. In great haste and as fast as he could hegot down again to the roadway, hurried across the smooth pavement, onboth sides of which the long perspective of man-headed lions kept guard,and painfully clambered up a sand-heap on the opposite side. This was intruth a painful effort, for the sand crumbled away again and again underhis feet, slipping down hill and carrying him with it, thus compellinghim to find a new hold with hand and foot. At last he was standing onthe outer border of the sphinx-avenue and opposite the very shrine wherehe fancied he had seen her whom he sought; but during his clamber it hadbecome perfectly dark again, for a heavy cloud had once more veiled themoon. He put both hands to his mouth, and shouted as loud as he could,"Klea!"--and then again, "Klea!"
Then, close at his feet he heard a rustle in the sand, and saw a figuremoving before him as though it had risen out of the ground. This couldnot be Klea, it was a man--still, perhaps, he might have seen hisdarling--but before he had time to address him he felt the shock ofa heavy blow that fell with tremendous force on his back between hisshoulders. The assassin's sand-bag had missed the exact spot on the napeof the neck, and Serapion's strongly-knit backbone would have been ableto resist even a stronger blow.
The conviction that he was attacked by robbers flashed on hisconsciousness as immediately as the sense of pain, and with it thecertainty that he was a lost man if he did not defend himself stoutly.
Behind him he heard another rustle in the sand. As quickly as he couldhe turned round with an exclamation of "Accursed brood of vipers!" andwith his heavy staff he fell upon the figure before him like a smithbeating cold iron, for his eye, now more accustomed to the darkness,plainly saw it to be a man. Serapion must have hit straight, for his foefell at his feet with a hideous roar, rolled over and over in the sand,groaning and panting, and then with one shrill shriek lay silent andmotionless.
The recluse, in spite of the dim light, could see all the movementsof the robber he had punished so severely, and he was bending over thefallen man anxiously and compassionately when he shuddered to feel twoclammy hands touching his feet, and immediately after two sharp pricksin his right heel, which were so acutely painful that he screamed aloud,and was obliged to lift up the wounded foot. At the same time, however,he did not overlook the need to defend himself. Roaring like a woundedbull, cursing and raging, he laid about him on all sides with his staff,but hit nothing but the ground. Then as his blows followed each othermore slowly, and at last his wearied arms could no longer wield theheavy stake, and he found himself compelled to sink on his knees, ahoarse voice addressed him thus:
"You have taken my comrade's life, Roman, and a two-legged serpent hasstung you for it. In a quarter of an hour it will be all over with you,as it is with that fellow there. Why does a fine gentleman like you goto keep an appointment in the desert without boots or sandals, and somake our work so easy? King Euergetes and your friend Eulaeus send youtheir greetings. You owe i
t to them that I leave you even your readymoney; I wish I could only carry away that dead lump there!"
During this rough speech Serapion was lying on the ground in greatagony; he could only clench his fists, and groan out heavy curses withhis lips which were now getting parched. His sight was as yet undimmed,and he could distinctly see by the light of the moon, which now shoneforth from a broad cloudless opening in the sky, that the murdererattempted to carry away his fallen comrade, and then, after raising hishead to listen for a moment sprang off with flying steps away into thedesert. But the recluse now lost consciousness, and when some minuteslater he once more opened his eyes his head was resting softly in thelap of a young girl, and it was the voice of his beloved Klea that askedhim tenderly.
"You poor dear father! How came you here in the desert, and into thehands of these murderers? Do you know me--your Klea? And he who islooking for your wounds--which are not visible at all--he is the RomanPublius Scipio. Now first tell us where the dagger hit you that I maybind it up quickly--I am half a physician, and understand these thingsas you know."
The recluse tried to turn his head towards Klea's, but the effort was invain, and he said in a low voice: "Prop me up against the slanting wallof the tomb shrine yonder; and you, child, sit down opposite to me, forI would fain look at you while I die. Gently, gently, my friend Publius,for I feel as if all my limbs were made of Phoenician glass, and mightbreak at the least touch. Thank you, my young friend--you have strongarms, and you may lift me a little higher yet. So--now I can bear it;nay, I am well content, I am to be envied--for the moon shows me yourdear face, my child, and I see tears on your cheeks, tears for me, asurly old man. Aye, it is good, it is very good to die thus."
"Oh, father, father!" cried Klea. "You must not speak so. You must live,you must not die; for see, Publius here asks me to be his wife, and theImmortals only can know how glad I am to go with him, and Irene isto stay with us, and be my sister and his. That must make you happy,father.--But tell us, pray tell us where the wound hurts that themurderer gave you?"
"Children, children," murmured the anchorite, and a happy smile partedhis lips. "The gracious gods are merciful in permitting me to seethat--aye, merciful to me, and to effect that end I would have diedtwenty deaths."
Klea pressed his now cold hand to her lips as he spoke and again asked,though hardly able to control her voice for tears:
"But the wound, father--where is the wound?" "Let be, let be," repliedSerapion. "It is acrid poison, not a dagger or dart that has undonemy strength. And I can depart in peace, for I am no longer needed foranything. You, Publius, must now take my place with this child, and willdo it better than I. Klea, the wife of Publius Scipio! I indeed havedreamt that such a thing might come to pass, and I always knew, and havesaid to myself a thousand times that I now say to you my son: This girlhere, this Klea is of a good sort, and worthy only of the noblest.I give her to you, my son Publius, and now join your hands before mehere--for I have always been like a father to her."
"That you have indeed," sobbed Klea. "And it was no doubt for my sake,and to protect me, that you quitted your retreat, and have met yourdeath."
"It was fate, it was fate," stammered the old man.
"The assassins were in ambush for me," cried Publius, seizing Serapion'shand, "the murderers who fell on you instead of me. Once more, where isyour wound?"
"My destiny fulfils itself," replied the recluse. "No locked-up cell, nophysician, no healing herb can avail against the degrees of Fate. I amdying of a serpent's sting as it was foretold at my birth; and if I hadnot gone out to seek Klea a serpent would have slipped into my cage, andhave ended my life there. Give me your hands, my children, for a deadlychill is creeping over me, and its cold hand already touches my heart."
For a few minutes his voice failed him, and then he said softly:
"One thing I would fain ask of you. My little possessions, which wereintended for you and Irene, you will now use to bury me. I do not wishto be burnt, as they did with my father--no, I should wish to be finelyembalmed, and my mummy to be placed with my mother's. If indeed we maymeet again after death--and I believe we shall--I would rather see heronce more than any one, for she loved me so much--and I feel now as ifI were a child again, and could throw my arms round her neck. In anotherlife, perhaps, I may not be the child of misfortune that I have beenin this--in another life--now it grips my heart--in another----Childrenwhatever joys have smiled on me in this, children, it was to you I haveowed it--Klea, to you--and there is my little Irene too----"
These were the last words of Serapion the recluse; he fell back with adeep sigh and was dead. Klea and Publius tenderly closed his faithfuleyes.