CHAPTER VI.
Sirona was sitting at the open window of her bedroom, having her hairarranged by a black woman that her husband had bought in Rome. Shesighed, while the slave lightly touched the shining tresses here andthere with perfumed oil which she had poured into the palm of her hand;then she firmly grasped the long thick waving mass of golden hair andwas parting it to make a plait, when Sirona stopped her, saying, "Giveme the mirror."
For some minutes she looked with a melancholy gaze at the image inthe polished metal, then she sighed again; she picked up the littlegreyhound that lay at her feet, and placing it in her lap, showed theanimal its image in the mirror.
"There, poor Iambe," she said, "if we two, inside these four walls, wantto see anything like a pleasing sight we must look at ourselves."
Then she went on, turning to the slave. "How the poor little beasttrembles! I believe it longs to be back again at Arelas, and is afraidwe shall linger too long under this burning sky. Give me my sandals."
The black woman reached her mistress two little slippers with giltornaments on the slight straps, but Sirona flung her hair off her facewith the back of her hand, exclaiming, "The old ones, not these. Woodenshoes even would do here."
And with these words she pointed to the court-yard under the window,which was in fact as ill contrived, as though gilt sandals had never yettrodden it. It was surrounded by buildings; on one side was a wallwith a gateway, and on the others buildings which formed a sharply benthorseshoe.
Opposite the wing in which Sirona and her husband had found a home stoodthe much higher house of Petrus, and both had attached to them, in thebackground of the court-yard, sheds constructed of rough reddishbrown stones, and covered with a thatch of palm-branches; in these theagricultural implements were stored, and the senator's slaves lived.In front lay a heap of black charcoal, which was made on the spot byburning the wood of the thorny sajala species of acacia; and there toolay a goodly row of well smoothed mill-stones, which were shaped in thequarry, and exported to Egypt. At this early hour the whole unlovelydomain lay in deep shadow, and was crowded with fowls and pigeons.Sirona's window alone was touched by the morning sun. If she could haveknown what a charm the golden light shed over her figure, on her roseand white face, and her shining hair, she would have welcomed theday-star, instead of complaining that it had too early waked her fromsleep--her best comfort in her solitude.
Besides a few adjoining rooms she was mistress of a larger room, thedwelling room, which look out upon the street.
She shaded her eyes with her hand, exclaiming, "Oh! the wearisome sun.It looks at us the first thing in the morning through the window; as ifthe day were not long enough. The beds must be put in the front room; Iinsist upon it."
The slave shook her head, and stammered an answer, "Phoebicius will nothave it so."
Sirona's eyes flashed angrily, and her voice, which was particularlysweet, trembled slightly as she asked, "What is wrong with him again?"
"He says," replied the slave, "that the senator's son, Polykarp, goesoftener past your window than altogether pleases him, and it seems tohim, that you occupy yourself more than is necessary with his littlebrothers and sisters, and the other children up there."
"Is he still in there?" asked Sirona with glowing cheeks, and shepointed threateningly to the dwelling-room.
"The master is out," stuttered the old woman. "He went out beforesunrise. You are not to wait for breakfast, he will not return tilllate."
The Gaulish lady made no answer, but her head fell, and the deepestmelancholy overspread her features. The greyhound seemed to feel for thetroubles of his mistress, for he fawned upon her, as if to kiss her. Thesolitary woman pressed the little creature, which had come with her fromher home, closely to her bosom; for an unwonted sense of wretchednessweighed upon her heart, and she felt as lonely, friendless, andabandoned, as if she were driving alone--alone--over a wide andshoreless sea. She shuddered, as if she were cold--for she thought ofher husband, the man who here in the desert should have been all in allto her, but whose presence filled her with aversion, whose indifferencehad ceased to wound her, and whose tenderness she feared far more thanhis wild irritability--she had never loved him.
She had grown up free from care among a number of brothers and sisters.Her father had been the chief accountant of the decurions' college inhis native town, and he had lived opposite the circus, where, being ofa stern temper, he had never permitted his daughters to look on at thegames; but he could not prevent their seeing the crowd streaming intothe amphitheatre, or hearing their shouts of delight, and their eagercries of approbation.
Sirona thus grew up in the presence of other people's pleasure, and ina constantly revived and never satisfied longing to share it; she had,indeed, no time for unnecessary occupations, for her mother died beforeshe was fully grown up, and she was compelled to take charge of theeight younger children. This she did in all fidelity, but in her hoursof leisure she loved to listen to the stories told her by the wives ofofficials, who had seen, and could praise, the splendors of Rome thegolden.
She knew that she was fair, for she need only go outside the house tohear it said; but though she longed to see the capital, it was not forthe sake of being admired, but because there was there so much that wassplendid to see and to admire. So, when the Centurion Phoebicius, thecommandant of the garrison of her native town, was transferred to Rome,and when he desired to take the seventeen-years-old girl with him to theimperial city, as his wife--she was more than forty years younger thanhe--she followed him full of hope and eager anticipation.
Not long after their marriage she started for Rome by sea from Massilia,accompanied by an old relative; and he went by land at the head of hiscohorts.
She reached their destination long before her husband, and withoutwaiting for him, but constantly in the society of her old duenna, shegave herself up with the freedom and eagerness of her fresh youth to thedelights of seeing and admiring.
It did not escape her, while she did so, that she attracted all eyeswherever she went, and however much this flattered and pleased her atfirst, it spoilt many of her pleasures, when the Romans, young and old,began to follow and court her. At last Phoebicius arrived, and when hefound his house crowded with his wife's admirers he behaved to Sirona asthough she had long since betrayed his honor.
Nevertheless he dragged her from pleasure to pleasure, and from onespectacle to another, for it gratified him to show himself in publicwith his beautiful young wife. She certainly was not free fromfrivolity, but she had learnt early from her strict father, as being theguide of her younger sisters, to distinguish clearly right from wrong,and the pure from the unclean; and she soon discovered that the joysof the capital, which had seemed at first to be gay flowers with brightcolors, and redolent with intoxicating perfume, bloomed on the surfaceof a foul bog.
She at first had contemplated all that was beautiful, pleasant, andcharacteristic with delight; but her husband took pleasure only inthings which revolted her as being common and abominable. He watchedher every glance, and yet he pointed nothing out to her, but what washurtful to the feelings of a pure woman. Pleasure became her torment,for the sweetest wine is repulsive when it has been tasted by impurelips. After every feast and spectacle he loaded her with outrageousreproaches, and when at last, weary of such treatment, she refused toquit the house, he obliged her nevertheless to accompany him as often asthe Legate Quintillus desired it. The legate was his superior-officer,and he sent her every day some present or flowers.
Up to this time she had borne with him, and had tried to excuse him,and to think herself answerable for much of what she endured. But atlast--about ten months after her marriage--something occurred betweenher and Phoebicius--something which stood like a wall of brass betweenhim and her; and as this something had led to his banishment to theremote oasis, and to his degradation to the rank of captain of amiserable maniple, instead of his obtaining his hoped for promotion, hebegan to torment her systematically while she trie
d to protect herselfby icy coldness, so that at last it came to this, that the husband, forwhom she felt nothing but contempt, had no more influence on her life,than some physical pain which a sick man is doomed to endure all throughhis existence.
In his presence she was silent, defiant, and repellent, but as soonas he quitted her, her innate, warm-hearted kindliness and child-likemerriment woke up to new life, and their fairest blossoms opened outin the senator's house among the little troop who amply repaid her lovewith theirs.
Phoebicius belonged to the worshippers of Mithras, and he often fastedin his honor to the point of exhaustion, while on the other hand hefrequently drank with his boon companions, at the feasts of the god,till he was in a state of insensibility.
Here even, in Mount Sinai, he had prepared a grotto for the feast ofMithras, had gathered together a few companions in his faith, and whenit happened that he remained out all day and all night, and came homepaler even than usual, she well knew where he had been. Just now shevividly pictured to herself the person of this man with his eyes, thatnow were dull with sleep and now glowed with rage, and she asked herselfwhether it were indeed possible that of her own free will she had chosento become his wife. Her bosom heaved with quicker breathing as sheremembered the ignominy he had subjected her to in Rome, and sheclenched her small hands. At this instant the little dog sprang from herlap and flew barking to the window-sill; she was easily startled,and she drew on her morning-gown, which had slipped from her whiteshoulders; then she fastened the straps of her sandals, and went to lookdown into the court-yard.
A smile played upon her lips as she perceived young Hermas, who hadalready been for some time leaning motionless against the wall of thehouse opposite, and devouring with his gaze the figure of the beautifulyoung woman. She had a facile and volatile nature. Like the eye whichretains no impression of the disabling darkness so soon as the rays oflight have fallen on it, no gloom of suffering touched her so deeplythat the lightest breath of a new pleasure could not blow her troublesto the winds. Many rivers are quite different in color at their sourceand at their mouth, and so it was often with her tears; she began toweep for sorrow, and then found it difficult to dry her eyes for sheeroverflow of mirth. It would have been so easy for Phoebicius to make herlot a fair one! for she had a most susceptible heart, and was gratefulfor the smallest proofs of love, but between him and her every bond wasbroken.
The form and face of Hermas took her fancy; she thought he looked ofnoble birth in spite of his poor clothing, and when she observed thathis checks were glowing, and that the hand in which he held the medicinephial trembled, she understood that he was watching her, and that thesight of her had stirred his youthful blood. A woman--still more a womanwho is pleased to please--forgives any sin that is committed for herbeauty's sake, and Sirona's voice had a friendly ring in it as she bidHermas good-morning and asked him how his father was, and whether thesenator's medicine had been of service. The youth's answers were shortand confused, but his looks betrayed that he would fain have saidquite other things than those which his indocile tongue allowed him toreiterate timidly.
"Dame Dorothea was telling me last evening," she said kindly, "thatPetrus had every hope of your father's recovery, but that he is stillvery weak. Perhaps some good wine would be of service to him--notto-day, but to-morrow or the day after. Only come to me if you need it;we have some old Falerman in the loft, and white Mareotis wine, which isparticularly good and wholesome."
Hermas thanked her, and as she still urged him to apply to her in allconfidence, he took courage and succeeded in stammering rather thansaying,--"You are as good as you are beautiful."
The words were hardly spoken when the topmost stone of an elaboratelyconstructed pile near the slaves' house fell down with a loud clatter.Sirona started and drew back from the window, the grey-hound set up aloud barking, and Hermas struck his forehead with his hand as if he wereroused from a dream.
In a few instants he had knocked at the senator's door; hardly had heentered the house when Miriam's slight form passed across behind thepile of stones, and vanished swiftly and silently into the slaves'quarters. These were by this time deserted by their inhabitants, whowere busy in the field, the house, or the quarries; they consisted of afew ill-lighted rooms with bare, unfinished walls.
The shepherdess went into the smallest, where, on a bed of palm-sticks,lay the slave that she had wounded, and who turned over as with a hastyhand she promptly laid a fresh, but ill-folded bandage, all askew on thedeep wound in his bend. As soon as this task was fulfilled she left theroom again, placed herself behind the half open door which led into thecourt-yard, and, pressing, her brow against the stone door-post, lookedfirst at the senator's house, and then at Sirona's window, while herbreath came faster and faster.
A new and violent emotion was stirring her young soul; not many minutessince she had squatted peacefully on the ground by the side of thewounded man, with her head resting on her hand, and thinking of hergoats on the mountain. Then she had heard a slight sound in the court,which any one else would not have noticed; but she not only perceivedit, but knew with perfect certainty with whom it originated. She couldnever fail to recognize Hermas' foot-step, and it had an irresistibleeffect upon her. She raised her head quickly from her hand, and herelbow from the knee on which it was resting, sprang to her feet, andwent out into the yard. She was hidden by the mill-stones, but she couldsee Hermas lost in admiration. She followed the direction of his eyesand saw the same image which had fascinated his gaze--Sirona's lovelyform, flooded with sunlight. She looked as if formed out of snow, androses, and gold, like the angel at the sepulchre in the new picture inthe church. Yes, just like the angel, and the thought flew through hermind how brown and black she was herself, and that he had called hera she-devil. A sense of deep pain came over her, she felt as thoughparalyzed in body and soul; but soon she shook off the spell, and herheart began to beat violently; she had to bite her lip hard with herwhite teeth to keep herself from crying out with rage and anguish.
How she wished that she could swing herself up to the window on whichHermas' gaze was fixed, and clutch Sirona's golden hair and tear herdown to the ground, and suck the very blood from her red lips like avampire, till she lay at her feet as pale as the corpse of a man dead ofthirst in the desert. Then she saw the light mantle slip from Sirona'sshoulders, and observed Hermas start and press his hand to his heart.
Then another impulse seized her. It was to call to her and warn her ofhis presence; for even women who hate each other hold out the handof fellowship in the spirit, when the sanctity of woman's modesty isthreatened with danger. She blushed for Sirona, and had actually openedher lips to call, when the greyhound barked and the dialogue began. Nota word escaped her sharp ears, and when he told Sirona that she wasas good as she was beautiful she felt seized with giddiness; thenthe topmost stone, by which she had tried to steady herself, lost itsbalance, its fall interrupted their conversation, and Miriam returned tothe sick man.
Now she was standing at the door, waiting for Hermas. Long, long didshe wait; at last he appeared with Dorothea, and she could see that heglanced up again at Sirona; but a spiteful smile passed over her lips,for the window was empty and the fair form that he had hoped to seeagain had vanished.
Sirona was now sitting at her loom in the front room, whither she hadbeen tempted by the sound of approaching hoofs. Polykarp had riddenby on his father's fine horse, had greeted her as he passed, and haddropped a rose on the roadway. Half an hour later the old black slavecame to Sirona, who was throwing the shuttle through the warp with askilful hand.
"Mistress," cried the negress with a hideous grin; the lonely womanpaused in her work, and as she looked up enquiringly the old woman gaveher a rose. Sirona took the flower, blew away the road-side dustthat had clung to it, rearranged the tumbled delicate petals with herfinger-tips, and said, while she seemed to give the best part of herattention to this occupation, "For the future let roses be when you findthem. You know Phoebicius, and
if any one sees it, it will be talkedabout."
The black woman turned away, shrugging her shoulders; but Sironathought, "Polykarp is a handsome and charming man, and has finer andmore expressive eyes than any other here, if he were not always talkingof his plans, and drawings, and figures, and mere stupid grave thingsthat I do not care for!"