Chapter IV

Chapter IVBut Lucius did not sleep. Now that he was alone, he felt the agony of his suffering and affliction. He drew a sandal from a little casket, a woman’s blue-leather sandal adorned with gold relief and small, for all that Uncle Catullus was pleased to say. It was the only trace that Ilia had left behind her. And he kissed the sandal and groaned and stretched himself out impotently and clenched his fists and lay like that, staring before him without moving.He lay lost in thought. And suddenly he struck the gong and summoned Tarrar, who entered nimbly and respectfully:“Find Caleb and bring him here to me.”The little slave returned in a short time and ushered in Caleb, who approached with graceful salaams. Tarrar left his master alone with the Sabæan.“Caleb,” said Lucius, “sit down and listen. I need your advice.”“Your faithful servant is listening, my lord,” said Caleb, sitting down on a chair.“Caleb,” continued Lucius, “I have notcome to Egypt merely to see the things of interest which this country supplies. I have another object. There are mysterious oracles in Egypt; there are prophets and sibyls, so I am told, living in the desert. I want to know something. I want to know where some one is, one who is dear to me and far away. I want to consult the oracles and the prophets and sibyls. You must conduct me, without saying a word to my uncle or my tutor, because they do not approve of the attempts which I wish to make to find this person whom I love. Be my guide, Caleb, and I will reward you.”“I will be your guide, my lord,” replied Caleb, “and this very night I will conduct you....”“Where?”“To the sibyl of Rhacotis, an old sorceress who knows everything.”“We will go by ourselves, in secret.”“Very well, my lord; no one shall accompany us.... What do you think: would you not like a cool sherbet after your rest? And divert yourself with looking at the goods which the travelling merchants from distant foreign lands, who happen to-day to be staying in the diversorium, have to offerfor sale? I will have the sherbet prepared and the merchants informed, my lord. And to-night I will lead you through Rhacotis: we will go by ourselves, my lord, and no one shall know anything of our nocturnal expedition.”Caleb went away; Tarrar drew the curtains aside. Beyond the bedchamber was a pillared portico; and the green shadow of the palm-garden outside fell within doors. Uncle Catullus was still asleep, but Thrasyllus already sat reading his Egyptian guide-books at a table under a palm-tree. The wonderful, fantastic stories of Herodotus charmed the old tutor’s mind, which was not disinclined to fantasy; but Thrasyllus also took pleasure in the more succinct descriptions of the learned Eratosthenes, Ptolemy Evergetes’ librarian, who lived three centuries before and was a noted astronomer, philosopher and geographer. Thrasyllus loved to consult his splendid maps, which had never yet been bettered and which lay spread in heavy parchment on the table before him; and the tutor followed the cinnabar-traced Nile on these maps down to Ethiopia and the mysterious sources of the sacred stream.Yes, Eratosthenes was the most respectable guide. When he went blind, in his eighty-second year, he starved himself. Thrasyllus honoured him as a martyr of science. But the tutor also consulted Artemidorus and Hypsicrates, for he wished to be well-informed about the country which he was about to visit, that mysterious country of age-old history and colossal art, while also he did not despise the quite modern writings of his contemporary, Strabo: what a contemporary told about a country over the whole of which he had travelled was perhaps most important of all, because of its practical utility and also because of the freshness of the new impressions.So Thrasyllus sat under his palm-tree at a table strewn with unrolled papyri; more scrolls stood in a case by his side; and his fingers followed the cinnabar-traced Nile. Lucius in the portico smiled in kindly approval. But the travelling merchants, led by Caleb, arrived through the garden. They were Indians, Sabæans, Arabs, Phœnicians; and their slaves toiled under their heavy bales of merchandise, which were slung on pliant sticks over their shoulders. The merchants bent low in salaams before the wealthyRoman, bowed down to the earth, kissed the ground which his foot had trodden, all eager to sell their exotic wares at a profit above the ordinary to so distinguished a traveller. The Phœnicians made their slaves spread out Damascus tapestry, but Lucius looked at it with scorn and the Phœnicians at once rolled up their inferior tapestry. Then, however, they displayed embroidery from Nineveh and Tyre; and Lucius turned a little pale, because he thought of Ilia. It was all very beautiful in hue and very curious in pattern.“Call Uncle Catullus here,” he said to Tarrar, who was squatting beside him like a faithful little monkey.Tarrar hastened to Catullus, who thereupon arrived, sleepily rubbing his eyes, in a wide silk indoor simar; his grey hair stood in a tangle around his bald skull.“Uncle,” said Lucius, aside, “look here, if you please. Those embroideries from Tyre and Nineveh: I want them. Bargain for them.”For Uncle Catullus knew how to bargain. He began by turning up his nose at the embroideries; and the merchants uttered loud cries of protest and lifted their handsand invoked all the gods. But Uncle Catullus scornfully shook his head and said:“No, I won’t buy that trash. Show me other things.”Then the Phœnicians showed gold vessels from Tartessus, but the Arabs offered perfumes and aromatics from Jeddah and Zebid. The Sabæans displayed wonderful amulets, which bring luck and blissful dreams: the Indians showed tame, trained snakes, as domestic pets: the snakes had a small sardonyx encrusted in their heads, where it had grown into their scaly skin, and they danced on the tips of their tails, to the piping of the Indians’ flutes. They were attractive little creatures and did not cost more than one stater apiece, with the ebony casket in which they were kept; and Lucius impatiently bought them at once, partly because Tarrar found them so attractive and grinned where he squatted and looked on while the snakes danced and twisted one among another.But at last a Mongolian merchant arrived, with a pale-yellow face and narrow eyes, which looked as though they were closed, and his hair, around his shaven head, ended in a pigtail of purple silk, with a tassel to it. This merchant offered little black balls, tobe smoked in peculiar pipes; he asked Lucius to accept a pipe and a couple of little black pills in a yellow-silk bag, without payment, and to smoke them when he had the opportunity. The intoxication which they produced was something very peculiar, said the merchant.Meanwhile Uncle Catullus had duly succeeded in acquiring the embroideries from Tyre and Nineveh at a really laughable price and presented them to his nephew, who of course paid for them in his stead. But, when Lucius held them in his hands—they were narrow strips embroidered with Assyrian lions and strange unicorns—he grew sad and said:“What use are they to me, after all? Time was when I should have given them to Ilia as a border for her stola. Tarrar, put the pretty embroideries away, with the Mongolian pills and all the other rubbish which I have bought without wanting to: the little gold vases and the Sabæan amulets.”“And the dear little snakes, my lord?” asked Tarrar, with glittering eyes.“You may keep them ... to play with,” said Lucius, carelessly.Meanwhile Caleb had had the cups ofsherbet handed round. Uncle Catullus thought it particularly good and considered that Lucius’ cook ought really to write down this Egyptian recipe; but Lucius gave his to Tarrar, who scooped up the sherbet greedily with his black fingers.Chapter VNight had fallen over the city, a dark, starless night. To escape attention, Lucius and Caleb mounted a small, inconspicuous litter at the back of the diversorium. Caleb sat at Lucius’ feet with his legs dangling out of the litter, which was lifted by four powerful Libyans, in preparation for departing at a trot.“Have you your dagger, my lord?” asked Caleb.Yes, Lucius had a dagger in his girdle.“And are you wearing your Sabæan amulets?”Yes, Lucius had hung the amulets which he had bought round his neck, for Caleb was full of confidence in these talismans of his country: the amulets warded off all ill-luck; Caleb himself wore amulets everywhere, on his chest and round his waist and even on a narrow gold bangle round his ankle.The bearers scurried through Bruchium and past the Gymnasium and the Museum, as though they had an enemy at their heels.They came to a square that lay higher than the Great Harbour; and Lucius looked out across the quays at the different harbours. Red and green and yellow lights and signals shone over a variegated, patched throng of ships and boats and swarming people. But the wonder to Lucius’ eyes was the light-house of Pharos. The nine storeys of the tall marble monument, stacked one on top of the other like so many cubes, each cube smaller than the one below, ended in a sort of cupola, where a heap of burning coal gleamed from immense mirrors and reflectors, which turned and turned continually, sending bright, broad rays from the summit of the tower upon the harbours, which they lit up each time, before stretching into the dark night. Sometimes the wide sheaves of light struck the high marble bridge of the Heptastadium, which led to the light-house itself and which at this hour was crowded with women and idlers.“My lord,” whispered Caleb, “would you not like to get out ... and walk ...there? The loveliest women in Alexandria are strolling yonder ... and you can take your choice.”Lucius shook his head:“I want to go to the sibyl,” he said.“Your lordship is sick,” said Caleb. “Your lordship is sick with longing and useless pining. The lovely women of Alexandria would cure your lordship. They have often curedme, my lord, when I was sick with longing and pining.”“Longing and pining for what, Caleb?”“For my country, for Saba, my lord, for Saba, the fairest and dearest country in the world, my lord, which I have had to leave ... for the sake of business, my lord, for the sake of business. For we do no business in Saba.”The four bearers trotted on. They were now trotting past the immemorial temple of Serapis, the Serapeum: sombre and grey it lay with its terraces below the Acropolis; and numbers of other shrines, also sombre, grey and mysterious, were ranged, with the needles of their obelisks, around the vast temple.“These shrines are deserted, my lord,” said Caleb, “and no longer find worshippers. Even the Serapeum is deserted ... for the temple of Serapis at Canopus. And the modern Alexandrians hold all this sacredquarter in but slight esteem since the quinquennial games were instituted at Nicopolis. All those who wish to do honour to Serapis repair to Nicopolis and Canopus. We will go there too, my lord, and you shall dream dreams full of import high up, on the roof of the temple.... Look, my lord, here we are, at Rhacotis....”The trotting bearers had left the aristocratic quarters. They were now hurrying through a narrower, sombre street.“We had better get out here, my lord, and walk,” said Caleb. “We shall find our litter here when we return.”Lucius and Caleb alighted. The sombre street was hardly lit, but was nevertheless swarming with people, including drunken sailors and fighting beldames.“It’s very different here, my lord, from the Heptastadium and Lake Mareotis. Here the people, soldiers and sailors take their pleasure. Here a dagger is drawn as quick as thought. Here is nothing but kennels and taverns. But every traveller who wants to know Alexandria comes here.... Look, my lord, here it is,” said Caleb, “here!”They had gone through a network of littlelanes and alleys and come to a square. At one corner an old, ragged philosopher stood arguing and expounding. Around him soldiers, sailors and wenches gathered, listening attentively to what he said of true wisdom. When he put out his hand for alms, two soldiers gave him some coppers, but the others laughed and pelted him with rotten vegetables. He fled and disappeared, pursued by yelping dogs that bit him in the skirt of his torn toga.“Will you not see the Syrian boys dance, my lord?” asked Caleb. “They dance so beautifully.”“No, I want to go to the sibyl,” Lucius answered, impatiently.“We are close to her dwelling, my lord,” Caleb declared.They almost fought their way through the crowd. The men cursed them because they pushed and the women flung themselves round their necks. Caleb drew his dagger and raised it threateningly. Other knives were drawn forthwith. There was a demoniacal yelling and din. But they succeeded in avoiding bloodshed.“I want to go to the sibyl,” Lucius repeated, panting and with his clenched fistspushing away two women who were hanging on to his arms.Lucius and Caleb now hurried through a reek of wine past the open brothels and reeking taverns. Caleb stopped in front of a small, narrow door and knocked. It was opened by a little Greek girl, pretty and delicate as a Tanagra figurine, with very large black eyes.“Is Herophila within?” asked Caleb. “A distinguished foreigner wishes to consult her.”“I will tell her,” said the girl.They entered a very narrow little chamber. A woman came from behind a curtain. She was shrouded in a white veil, like a phantom; she carried an earthenware lamp; and it was not possible to see if she was young or old.“Do you wish to know the future?” she asked, in a hollow voice.“No,” said Lucius, “I want to know the past and the present. I want to know where a girl named Ilia is and how she vanished from my house. Here is the sandal which she left behind: the only trace of her. If she ... is dead, can you make her appear before me, so that I may ask her?”“Yes,” said the sibyl, “I can. For I am descended from the witch of En-dor.”“Who was she?” asked Lucius.“The witch who made Samuel appear before Saul....”“I never heard of them,” said Lucius.“And another of my forbears was my honoured namesake, Herophila of Erythræ.”“Who was she?” asked Lucius.“She was the custodian of the shrine of Apollo Smintheus, the divine rat-killer. She prophesied to Hecuba the calamity which would cause the death of her son Paris, whom she was bearing in her womb.”“I never heard of her before,” Lucius repeated. “Tell me if Ilia is dead.”The sibyl pressed the blue-leather sandal to her head; and her other hand pressed Lucius’ forehead.“She isnotdead!” she cried, in a voice of rapture.“She isnotdead?”“No, Ilia lives!”“Where? Where is she?”The sibyl, in a trance, muttered incomprehensible sounds:“She appears ... she appears,” she stammered, at length.Suddenly, behind her, the curtains parted. There was nothing there but a smoking tripod. Thick fumes filled the apartment and rolled on high like a heavy curtain.“She appears ... she appears,” the sibyl went on stammering.Lucius stared breathlessly.Suddenly, in the fumes, a figure was vaguely outlined as of a dainty woman, flimsy and thin, a shade that moved to and fro.“I see her!” cried Lucius. “Ilia, Ilia! Speak one word to me! Come back to me! I cannot live without you!”The vision had vanished. The smoke clouded away. The curtains closed again.“It is difficult,” said the sibyl, faintly, “to hold the astral bodies of living persons for more than a single moment. I can summon the dead for you for a longer time. But Ilia is not dead.”“Then where is she?” cried Lucius.The sibyl now pressed the sandal to her forehead and her other hand lay on Lucius’ head:“I see her,” said the sibyl. “She is lyingin a boat, swooning.... The sea is raging.... Now rough, bearded men are hurrying her away....”“She is kidnapped!” cried Lucius. “By pirates?”“Yes!” cried the sibyl and fell into a faint.The pretty Greek girl appeared and said:“The fee is half a ptolemy, in gold....”Caleb paid.Lucius looked down in despair upon the swooning sibyl.“To-morrow night, my lord,” said the Greek girl, in a sing-song voice, “Herophila will be able to tell you more ... where Ilia was taken by the pirates.”But Lucius clenched his fists; he foamed at the mouth with sudden anger and roared:“She has merely read my own thoughts! No more! No more!”He glared round him like a madman, drew his dagger and made as though to fling himself upon the sibyl’s swooning body.“My lord! My lord!” shouted Caleb, holding him back and gripping him in his strong arms.The Greek girl, standing in front of thefainting woman, spread wide her arms and cried:“Do not murder a holy woman, my lord! Do not murder a poor, holy woman!”And, as she stood thus, Lucius saw that she was like the shade of Ilia ... and he burst into sobs.Chapter VIThose were sad days. Lucius would lie on his bed, sobbing like a child, then rise suddenly, in transports of rage, tear his clothes or take up a stool and hurl it at a marble statue, which fell down in dust and fragments. He showed Thrasyllus the door; and Uncle Catullus kept out of the way. Lucius had ended by banging Tarrar against a table; and the little slave had a deep wound in his forehead. Caleb, who was a good hand at doctoring, had himself bandaged Tarrar’s head.Anxiously, in the palm-garden, the travelling merchants whispered about the wealthy Roman, who was sick with sorrow, and Uncle Catullus whispered in their company. Thrasyllus consoled himself by visiting the libraries of the Museum and the Serapeum. Lucius refused to hear any music. He did not leave his bed. He did not eat. He did not sleep. He looked unshaven, lean-cheeked and hollow-eyed, as one who was desperately sick.They were sad days. The first charm ofAlexandria was past; and Lucius cursed his journey, his whole life and everybody. In his impotent pain he groaned, sobbed and raved. Master Ghizla ordained silence and quiet around his rooms. Not a sandal creaked, not a voice sounded.Lucius listened to this stillness. It was after luncheon, which Uncle Catullus had taken alone with Thrasyllus. And in the burning sunny stillness of that glowing June Lucius suddenly heard a child sobbing.He rose from his couch. The sobs came from the back-garden; and Lucius raised the curtain and looked out. There, listening for his master’s gong, sat Tarrar, huddled, like a little monkey, in a gaudy coat. He wore a napkin round his head as a bandage. And he was weeping, with little sobs, as if he were in great sorrow.“Tarrar!” cried Lucius.The little slave started up:“My lord!” he answered.And he rose and approached with comical reverence and sobbed.“Tarrar,” said Lucius, “why are you weeping? Are you in pain?”“No, my lord,” said Tarrar. “I beg pardon, my lord, for weeping. I must not weepin your august presence. I humbly beg your pardon, my lord. But I am weeping because ... because ... because I am so unhappy.”“And why are you unhappy? Because I struck you? Because you are in pain? Because you fell and made a hole in your head?”“No, my lord,” said Tarrar, trying to control himself, “not because you struck me. I am your little slave, my lord, and you have the right to strike me. And also not because I am in pain: there is only a little burning pain now, for Caleb bandaged my head this morning with cool ointment. The hole is not so very deep either; and, when it is healed, the scar will remind me that I belong to you, my lord, and that I am your little slave.”“But then why are you weeping, Tarrar, and why are you unhappy?”“I am weeping, my lord,” Tarrar began, “because....”And then he could restrain himself no longer, comical, respectful little monkey that he was, and sobbed aloud.Lucius laid his hand on the boy’s curly head:“Why are you weeping, child?”“Because the snakes wouldn’t dance any more!” sobbed Tarrar, in despair. “Because one of them is dead and the other gone, for it crept out of its skin and left its skin behind! Because, whatever pains I took to pipe the magic tune on the flute—in the garden behind the house, so as not to make a noise or disturb you—the snakes wouldnotdance any more ... as they did when the merchant piped to them! And because now ... one of the snakes is dead, my lord, and the other crept away out of its skin!”And Tarrar, overcome with misery, sobbed aloud and showed his master the snake and the ebony casket, from which a skin hung, with a square piece of glass gummed to the head.Lucius gave a melancholy smile. Was he not himself miserable, like Tarrar, because he too had been robbed of his plaything? And he said:“Come with me, Tarrar.”And he took the little slave by the hand and led him to his room.He sat down, with Tarrar standing in front of him. Then he said:“Tarrar, I am sorry for hurting you so badly. Forgive me, Tarrar.”But Tarrar shook his head:“It is not for me to forgive you, my lord,” he said, earnestly, with great, dim eyes. “You are the master.”“Tarrar,” Lucius continued, “when we are back in Rome, you shall be free. I will set you free. And you shall no longer be a little slave. But you shall go to school, to the freedmen’s college. And learn all sorts of things. And become very clever, like Thrasyllus. And I will give you money. And you will be able to do whatever you please.”Tarrar was a little taken aback:“You are very kind, my lord,” he said. “But, if I go to school, who will fold your clothes? And listen for your gong? You are not driving me away, my lord, because I was so unhappy? I would rather stay with you, my lord, I would rather remain your little slave ... and I will never again be so disrespectful as to weep.... I would rather remain your stupid little slave.”“You shall be free, Tarrar. But you willbe allowed to serve me all the same.”“I don’t want to be free, my lord. What use is freedom to me? I am your little slave. I should always be your little slave just as before.”“Then ask me something else, Tarrar, something that you would like very much.”Tarrar grinned with his white teeth through his tears:“May I tell you, my lord?”“Yes.”Tarrar hesitated. Then he said, shyly:“Two other little dancing snakes, my lord.”Lucius laughed softly:“Child!” he said. “I will give you two other little snakes! But I fear that those also will refuse to dance as only the Indian merchant can make them dance.”“I fear so too,” said Tarrar, reflecting. “The snake that is still alive has crept back to the merchant, I expect, out of the skin which it left behind it. I also fear that the new snakes would refuse to dance.... Then I would rather have nothing, my lord. I don’t want anything. If only I may serve you.”“Then get everything ready to shaveme ... and tell the slaves to prepare the bath.”“Yes, my lord,” said Tarrar, with alacrity.Chapter VII“Mother of Eros, hear thy slave!“Child of the foam, great goddess of love,Aphrodite, look down from above!Thou, who dost madden the gods with desire,Thou, who fulfillest men’s hearts with thy fire,All but the heart of my lord that I crave,Hark to thy slave!“Spill this hot blood that courses in vain for him,Darken these eyes that are heavy with pain for him,Smite the parched lips that he sees but to spurn them,The hands stretched in love ... take them, break them and burn them!“Then, in the place where lately he strode,Mingle mine ash with the dust of the road;Thus, though I win not a glance from his eye,Thus, though as ever he pass me byCareless, unseeing, at least my lord’s heelCannot but touch me, at least I shall feelThe embrace of his foot; and his sandall’d soleShall kiss my dust and make me whole.“Then let the heart that he has press’d,The ashen lips by him caressedSink low in the lowly dust of the roadLest another tread where late he trod.“Mother of Eros, hear thy slave!“Child of the foam, great goddess of love,Aphrodite, look down from above!Thou, who dost madden the gods with desire,Thou, who fulfillest men’s hearts with thy fire,All but the heart of my lord that I crave,Hark to thy slave!”Cora’s song rang through the falling night. Her clear voice, tinkling as though with little golden bells, at first soft and hushed, rose throbbing in passion and then broke like a crystal ray and melted in mournfulness and plaintive prayer.The shadows lay heaped under the palm-trees. Outside the doors of their apartments, in the galleries of the diversorium, sat the travelling merchants, squatting or lying on mat or rug, listening. Uncle Catullus lay in a hammock and Thrasyllus sat beside him and looked up at the stars, which were beginning to show like silver daisies in wide, blue meadows.“You have sung beautifully, Cora,” said Uncle Catullus to the slave, who was sitting on the ground with the four-stringed harp before her.“Thank you, my lord,” said the slave.“Why not call me uncle?” said Catullus, good-naturedly.“I should not dare,” said Cora, smiling.“Ilia used to call me uncle.”“I am not Ilia, my lord.”Tarrar appeared in the pillared portico.But his appearance was a surprise. For Tarrar, no longer bandaged, looked like a little savage: he wore his Libyan festive garment; a girdle of feathers hung round his waist; he was crowned with a head-dress of feathers. And he stood grinning.“Great gods, Tarrar!” cried Uncle Catullus, with a start. “What have you done to yourself? You look like a little cannibal! You frighten me! What’s happening?”“We are going to Canopus, my lord, to-night!” cried Tarrar, jubilantly. “My Lord Lucius lets you know that we are all going to Canopus this very night! Here is his lordship himself!”And Tarrar pointed triumphantly to Lucius, who appeared upon the threshold. Cora had risen and now curtseyed low to the ground, with outstretched arms.Lucius looked like a young Egyptian god. He wore an Egyptian robe of striped byssus, with a border of hieroglyphics worked in heavy embroidery and precious stones; his legs were encased in hose of gold tissue; about his head was an Egyptian coif, likethat of a sphinx, with broad, projecting, striped bands, which fell to his shoulders; he glittered with strange jewels and was wrapped from head to foot in fine gold net like a transparent cloak, like an immaterial shroud. And he approached with a smile, brilliantly, superhumanly beautiful.“Great sacred gods! Great sacred gods!” exclaimed Uncle Catullus.He rose; Thrasyllus rose too; and the merchants gathered round and, in salaam upon salaam, showed their admiration for the dazzling stranger.“Lucius, what possesses you? What is happening? Have you turned into Serapis himself?”“No, uncle,” smiled Lucius, “I am merely clad in ceremonial raiment because I want to go to Canopus and dream on the roof of the temple of Serapis. It is the great feast; and Caleb”—he pointed to Caleb stepping forward—“has persuaded me to go this night in state to Canopus. You are coming too, uncle; you also, Thrasyllus; we shall all go, all my freedmen and slaves. Caleb will see about a boat.”A violent and feverish excitement followed. Slaves, male and female, streamedfrom every side of the diversorium, rejoicing and clasping their hands in amazement.“When any princely noble, such as his lordship,” Caleb explained, “goes to Canopus, to the feast of Serapis thrice holy, he goes in the greatest state, with all his household to accompany him.”“So I am going too, as I belong to the household?” exclaimed Uncle Catullus. “Only ... am I to rig myself out like that? And where shall I find such a sumptuous raiment?”“My lord,” said Caleb, “you will find everything ready in your chamber. You too, Master Thrasyllus.”Uncle Catullus hurried away, clasping his fat stomach in his two hands. You never knew where you were with that Lucius! For days and days he had been mourning and sobbing and lamenting; he had remained invisible and had eaten nothing ... and there, there he appeared, decked out like a young god, and wanted to go to Canopus, to dream on the roof of the temple!“And I had just been reckoning on a quiet evening, because I feel that I’ve overloaded my stomach!” moaned Uncle Catullus. “Egypt will be the death of me!”Lights everywhere, links and torches; fever and gaiety everywhere, because one and all were going to Canopus that night. What a surprise! Their lord was no longer sick! It was the great feast! It was the feast of Serapis! The feast of dreams! The water-festival and the boat-festival! It was the summer festival of Canopus!Vettius and Rufus, the two stewards, gave orders here, there and everywhere. One and all, they said, were to deck themselves in festive garb. Ione, the old female slave, who had charge of the harpists and dancers, was given leave to buy from the merchants whatever she needed, veils and ornaments.“We are going to Canopus, we are going to Canopus!” cried the women, in joyful chorus. “Quick, Ione, hand me the poppy-rouge! Here, a stick of antimony! I want a blue veil, Ione, and blue lotus-flowers for my hair! Quick, quick, Ione! The master is ready!”“We are going to Canopus, we are going to Canopus!” Cora cried, joyfully, with the rest. “My lord was like a young god, he looked like Serapis himself! Ione, I must have a net of gold thread and a dreaming-veil of gold thread and pink water-lilies formy hair! I want a wreath of pink water-lilies!”Lucius from afar beheld this stir, in the reflection of the lamps and torches in the night. Slaves were running to and fro; litters were prepared. He thought only of Ilia. He wanted to wrap himself in the dreaming-veil and to lie on the temple-roof and dream where Ilia was, where she had been carried ... by the pirates. And he stood like a priest, gazing solemnly before him.Chapter VIIIDuring those evenings of the summer festival, Alexandria was lighted more brilliantly than Rome itself. The town glittered with hundreds of lights, lamps, lanterns, torches and links; it glittered in its harbours, where the blinding sheaves of light floated from the dome of the light-house; it glittered in its two main streets, which intersected each other; it glittered in the colonnades of the Museum and the Gymnasium, colonnades and stadia themselves restlessly teeming, up to where the multitude were making merry for the festival.But above all it glittered over Lake Mareotis and the Canopus Canal. The splendid villas on the lake were bright with many-coloured lanterns and balls of fire; the temple of Aphrodite, on the eyot, was silhouetted in flaring lines; and over the golden waters of the lake itself the illuminated boats pressed and crowded, filled with song, filled with dance, full of colour, gladness and joy; streamers flapped and rugs trailed overthe sides of the boats down to the water.Through the lighted streets the bearers hurried and thronged with the litters towards Lake Mareotis. They hurried from the diversorium, with the harpists and the dancing-girls and a great procession of slaves in festive raiment. An army of freedmen followed on horses and mules; and the passers-by pointed to the imposing procession, evidently the household of a very wealthy Roman who was going to Canopus to dream.The procession reached a landing-stage on the lake. Here a great barge lay moored, a thalamegus which Caleb had succeeded in hiring at the last moment for a vast sum of money. The thalamegus was painted blue and gilded, with blue-and-gilt oars, which stuck out like so many swan’s-legs. Caleb had had her covered with tapestry and adorned with wreaths of flowers and festoons of leaves. The silver statue of Aphrodite stood on the prow, with incense burning before it. The troop of slaves, male and female, and freedmen, with Vettius and Rufus, hastened on board to await the master’s coming.A dense multitude pressed round to look on greedily. Now a Roman litter approached,recognizable by its square shape; yet another and the master alighted, with the aid of his slaves, male and female. He was accompanied by an old, corpulent kinsman and a grave tutor.“He’s going dreaming! He’s going dreaming!” cried the populace. “See, he has his dreaming-veil on! He looks like Serapis himself!”Beggars crowded round the travellers:“Divine lord and exalted prince! Image of Horus, the son of Osiris! May Serapis send you good dreams! May Serapis load you with blessings! May he keep bad dreams locked far from you, in the shadowy underworld!”The stewards distributed money among the beggars. Lucius had gone on board. The slave-girls scattered flowers before his feet as he walked.The song of the rowers was heard from the body of the boat. The creaking ropes were cast off; the barge glided towards the middle of the lake. She gleamed with blue, green and yellow lights and left a trail of brightness in her wake; the water was bright around her. On the banks the villas and palaces of light stood in gardens of light.Hundreds of other barges were gliding slowly in the same direction. Above the monotonous drone of the rowers’ song rang ballads and hymns. The music of citharas was heard in descending chords; the harps rang out; the notes of double flutes quavered through the evening air with a magic intoxication of melody.The waters of the lake stood high. It was the month when the kindly Nile stepped outside its banks with a moist foot and overflowed the Delta. The golden waters of the lake lapped higher than the marble steps of the villas down which the brilliant hetairæ descended, holding the lappets of their veils, to take their seats on the cushions of their barges.Flowers fell on the water, in unison with the notes of hymn and song. All the craft, hundreds and hundreds, large and small, barges and coracles, square rafts and canoes, pressed gently forward towards the entrance of the Canopian Canal. On the banks were thousands of idlers and spectators, all the people of Alexandria.The vessels glided to the harmony of the twanged strings into the broad canal. It was very full of water; the banks wereflooded. Reeds tall as a man, biblos and cyamos, rose like pillars, blossoming during this month with thousands of waving plumes: the leaves of the biblos were long and bending over, as though each were languidly broken; those of the cyamos were round as scales and goblet-deep, stacked one above the other along the stems, like cups.1In the light on the barges, golden patches glowed among the stalks; and the reeds and rushes blossomed up as though out of molten gold.Here lay the Canopian harbour, here the suburb of Eleusis; and the canal split into two branches. The narrower channel led to Schedia, on the Nile; the broader led past Nicopolis to Canopus.Beyond stretched the sea, wide and blue. Only a narrow strip of land separated it from the canal; and it lay boundless under a thousand twinkling stars.“Lucius,” said Thrasyllus, sitting spell-bound at the feet of the young Roman, who sat on a raised throne and gazed in front of him like a priest, full of longing for his dream of that night, “Lucius, my Lord Catullus,look! We have passed Nicopolis, with its amphitheatre and stadium; and yonder lies Taposiris, with Cape Zephyrium; and on a height I can see the temple of Aphrodite Arsinoe.”“I see,” said Lucius, turning his eyes towards the temple, which was lit with lines of fire and rose above the water like a mansion in Olympus.“I see,” echoed Uncle Catullus, seated by Lucius’ side.“I was reading,” Thrasyllus explained, “that at the same place where that temple now stands there once stood the city of Thonis, named after the king who hospitably entreated Menelaus and Helen. Homer mentions it and speaks of the secret herbs and precious balsams which Helen received from Queen Polydamna, Thonis’ spouse.”“You know everything, Thrasyllus,” said Uncle Catullus, warmly, “and it is a joy to travel with you.”“Tell the slave from Cos to sing the Hymn to Aphrodite as we row past the goddess’ temple,” said Lucius.Thrasyllus went to Cora and communicated the master’s order. Forthwith a group of singers and dancers rose to their feet.Cora herself struck the resounding chords. And she sang:“Mother of Eros, hear thy slave!“Child of the foam, great goddess of love,Aphrodite, look down from above!Thou, who dost madden the gods with desire,Thou, who fulfillest men’s hearts with thy fire,All but the heart of my lord that I crave,Hark tothyslave!”She stood as one inspired while she sang, with her fingers on the chords, facing the temple. Around her the girls danced to the song. The movements of their lithe bodies, light as the ripple of a silken scarf in the breeze, met and dissolved in picture after picture with each word of the song. The singer’s voice swelled crystal-clear. From the bank of the canal, from the open houses, on the temple-steps the people listened to her song. In the tall reeds lay smaller boats, wherein a man and woman embraced in love. Their hands thrust aside the yielding stems; and their smiles glanced at Cora.“All but the heart of my lord that I crave,Hark to thy slave!”the other singers now sang after her.“She sings well,” said Lucius.Cora heard him. She blushed crimson between the great rose-coloured flowers at her temples. But she behaved as though she had heard nothing. And she sat down quietly among her companions, at the foot of the silver statue of Aphrodite.The barge glided on slowly with the others. From all of them, in turns, came music. The water of the flooding canal was like a broad golden mirror. On the bank, between the stalks of the tall reeds, the open taverns and brothels rose, wreathed in flowers, as from an enchanted lake. The women in them beckoned and waved with long lotus-stems.But the barges glided on, towards Canopus. They were all going to the temple of Serapis. Not until after the dreams would the brothels and taverns be visited. The orgy was to come after the dream.1These cyamos-leaves were actually used for kitchen-utensils by the people of Alexandria; and their sale provided a regular livelihood.

Chapter IVBut Lucius did not sleep. Now that he was alone, he felt the agony of his suffering and affliction. He drew a sandal from a little casket, a woman’s blue-leather sandal adorned with gold relief and small, for all that Uncle Catullus was pleased to say. It was the only trace that Ilia had left behind her. And he kissed the sandal and groaned and stretched himself out impotently and clenched his fists and lay like that, staring before him without moving.He lay lost in thought. And suddenly he struck the gong and summoned Tarrar, who entered nimbly and respectfully:“Find Caleb and bring him here to me.”The little slave returned in a short time and ushered in Caleb, who approached with graceful salaams. Tarrar left his master alone with the Sabæan.“Caleb,” said Lucius, “sit down and listen. I need your advice.”“Your faithful servant is listening, my lord,” said Caleb, sitting down on a chair.“Caleb,” continued Lucius, “I have notcome to Egypt merely to see the things of interest which this country supplies. I have another object. There are mysterious oracles in Egypt; there are prophets and sibyls, so I am told, living in the desert. I want to know something. I want to know where some one is, one who is dear to me and far away. I want to consult the oracles and the prophets and sibyls. You must conduct me, without saying a word to my uncle or my tutor, because they do not approve of the attempts which I wish to make to find this person whom I love. Be my guide, Caleb, and I will reward you.”“I will be your guide, my lord,” replied Caleb, “and this very night I will conduct you....”“Where?”“To the sibyl of Rhacotis, an old sorceress who knows everything.”“We will go by ourselves, in secret.”“Very well, my lord; no one shall accompany us.... What do you think: would you not like a cool sherbet after your rest? And divert yourself with looking at the goods which the travelling merchants from distant foreign lands, who happen to-day to be staying in the diversorium, have to offerfor sale? I will have the sherbet prepared and the merchants informed, my lord. And to-night I will lead you through Rhacotis: we will go by ourselves, my lord, and no one shall know anything of our nocturnal expedition.”Caleb went away; Tarrar drew the curtains aside. Beyond the bedchamber was a pillared portico; and the green shadow of the palm-garden outside fell within doors. Uncle Catullus was still asleep, but Thrasyllus already sat reading his Egyptian guide-books at a table under a palm-tree. The wonderful, fantastic stories of Herodotus charmed the old tutor’s mind, which was not disinclined to fantasy; but Thrasyllus also took pleasure in the more succinct descriptions of the learned Eratosthenes, Ptolemy Evergetes’ librarian, who lived three centuries before and was a noted astronomer, philosopher and geographer. Thrasyllus loved to consult his splendid maps, which had never yet been bettered and which lay spread in heavy parchment on the table before him; and the tutor followed the cinnabar-traced Nile on these maps down to Ethiopia and the mysterious sources of the sacred stream.Yes, Eratosthenes was the most respectable guide. When he went blind, in his eighty-second year, he starved himself. Thrasyllus honoured him as a martyr of science. But the tutor also consulted Artemidorus and Hypsicrates, for he wished to be well-informed about the country which he was about to visit, that mysterious country of age-old history and colossal art, while also he did not despise the quite modern writings of his contemporary, Strabo: what a contemporary told about a country over the whole of which he had travelled was perhaps most important of all, because of its practical utility and also because of the freshness of the new impressions.So Thrasyllus sat under his palm-tree at a table strewn with unrolled papyri; more scrolls stood in a case by his side; and his fingers followed the cinnabar-traced Nile. Lucius in the portico smiled in kindly approval. But the travelling merchants, led by Caleb, arrived through the garden. They were Indians, Sabæans, Arabs, Phœnicians; and their slaves toiled under their heavy bales of merchandise, which were slung on pliant sticks over their shoulders. The merchants bent low in salaams before the wealthyRoman, bowed down to the earth, kissed the ground which his foot had trodden, all eager to sell their exotic wares at a profit above the ordinary to so distinguished a traveller. The Phœnicians made their slaves spread out Damascus tapestry, but Lucius looked at it with scorn and the Phœnicians at once rolled up their inferior tapestry. Then, however, they displayed embroidery from Nineveh and Tyre; and Lucius turned a little pale, because he thought of Ilia. It was all very beautiful in hue and very curious in pattern.“Call Uncle Catullus here,” he said to Tarrar, who was squatting beside him like a faithful little monkey.Tarrar hastened to Catullus, who thereupon arrived, sleepily rubbing his eyes, in a wide silk indoor simar; his grey hair stood in a tangle around his bald skull.“Uncle,” said Lucius, aside, “look here, if you please. Those embroideries from Tyre and Nineveh: I want them. Bargain for them.”For Uncle Catullus knew how to bargain. He began by turning up his nose at the embroideries; and the merchants uttered loud cries of protest and lifted their handsand invoked all the gods. But Uncle Catullus scornfully shook his head and said:“No, I won’t buy that trash. Show me other things.”Then the Phœnicians showed gold vessels from Tartessus, but the Arabs offered perfumes and aromatics from Jeddah and Zebid. The Sabæans displayed wonderful amulets, which bring luck and blissful dreams: the Indians showed tame, trained snakes, as domestic pets: the snakes had a small sardonyx encrusted in their heads, where it had grown into their scaly skin, and they danced on the tips of their tails, to the piping of the Indians’ flutes. They were attractive little creatures and did not cost more than one stater apiece, with the ebony casket in which they were kept; and Lucius impatiently bought them at once, partly because Tarrar found them so attractive and grinned where he squatted and looked on while the snakes danced and twisted one among another.But at last a Mongolian merchant arrived, with a pale-yellow face and narrow eyes, which looked as though they were closed, and his hair, around his shaven head, ended in a pigtail of purple silk, with a tassel to it. This merchant offered little black balls, tobe smoked in peculiar pipes; he asked Lucius to accept a pipe and a couple of little black pills in a yellow-silk bag, without payment, and to smoke them when he had the opportunity. The intoxication which they produced was something very peculiar, said the merchant.Meanwhile Uncle Catullus had duly succeeded in acquiring the embroideries from Tyre and Nineveh at a really laughable price and presented them to his nephew, who of course paid for them in his stead. But, when Lucius held them in his hands—they were narrow strips embroidered with Assyrian lions and strange unicorns—he grew sad and said:“What use are they to me, after all? Time was when I should have given them to Ilia as a border for her stola. Tarrar, put the pretty embroideries away, with the Mongolian pills and all the other rubbish which I have bought without wanting to: the little gold vases and the Sabæan amulets.”“And the dear little snakes, my lord?” asked Tarrar, with glittering eyes.“You may keep them ... to play with,” said Lucius, carelessly.Meanwhile Caleb had had the cups ofsherbet handed round. Uncle Catullus thought it particularly good and considered that Lucius’ cook ought really to write down this Egyptian recipe; but Lucius gave his to Tarrar, who scooped up the sherbet greedily with his black fingers.

Chapter IV

But Lucius did not sleep. Now that he was alone, he felt the agony of his suffering and affliction. He drew a sandal from a little casket, a woman’s blue-leather sandal adorned with gold relief and small, for all that Uncle Catullus was pleased to say. It was the only trace that Ilia had left behind her. And he kissed the sandal and groaned and stretched himself out impotently and clenched his fists and lay like that, staring before him without moving.He lay lost in thought. And suddenly he struck the gong and summoned Tarrar, who entered nimbly and respectfully:“Find Caleb and bring him here to me.”The little slave returned in a short time and ushered in Caleb, who approached with graceful salaams. Tarrar left his master alone with the Sabæan.“Caleb,” said Lucius, “sit down and listen. I need your advice.”“Your faithful servant is listening, my lord,” said Caleb, sitting down on a chair.“Caleb,” continued Lucius, “I have notcome to Egypt merely to see the things of interest which this country supplies. I have another object. There are mysterious oracles in Egypt; there are prophets and sibyls, so I am told, living in the desert. I want to know something. I want to know where some one is, one who is dear to me and far away. I want to consult the oracles and the prophets and sibyls. You must conduct me, without saying a word to my uncle or my tutor, because they do not approve of the attempts which I wish to make to find this person whom I love. Be my guide, Caleb, and I will reward you.”“I will be your guide, my lord,” replied Caleb, “and this very night I will conduct you....”“Where?”“To the sibyl of Rhacotis, an old sorceress who knows everything.”“We will go by ourselves, in secret.”“Very well, my lord; no one shall accompany us.... What do you think: would you not like a cool sherbet after your rest? And divert yourself with looking at the goods which the travelling merchants from distant foreign lands, who happen to-day to be staying in the diversorium, have to offerfor sale? I will have the sherbet prepared and the merchants informed, my lord. And to-night I will lead you through Rhacotis: we will go by ourselves, my lord, and no one shall know anything of our nocturnal expedition.”Caleb went away; Tarrar drew the curtains aside. Beyond the bedchamber was a pillared portico; and the green shadow of the palm-garden outside fell within doors. Uncle Catullus was still asleep, but Thrasyllus already sat reading his Egyptian guide-books at a table under a palm-tree. The wonderful, fantastic stories of Herodotus charmed the old tutor’s mind, which was not disinclined to fantasy; but Thrasyllus also took pleasure in the more succinct descriptions of the learned Eratosthenes, Ptolemy Evergetes’ librarian, who lived three centuries before and was a noted astronomer, philosopher and geographer. Thrasyllus loved to consult his splendid maps, which had never yet been bettered and which lay spread in heavy parchment on the table before him; and the tutor followed the cinnabar-traced Nile on these maps down to Ethiopia and the mysterious sources of the sacred stream.Yes, Eratosthenes was the most respectable guide. When he went blind, in his eighty-second year, he starved himself. Thrasyllus honoured him as a martyr of science. But the tutor also consulted Artemidorus and Hypsicrates, for he wished to be well-informed about the country which he was about to visit, that mysterious country of age-old history and colossal art, while also he did not despise the quite modern writings of his contemporary, Strabo: what a contemporary told about a country over the whole of which he had travelled was perhaps most important of all, because of its practical utility and also because of the freshness of the new impressions.So Thrasyllus sat under his palm-tree at a table strewn with unrolled papyri; more scrolls stood in a case by his side; and his fingers followed the cinnabar-traced Nile. Lucius in the portico smiled in kindly approval. But the travelling merchants, led by Caleb, arrived through the garden. They were Indians, Sabæans, Arabs, Phœnicians; and their slaves toiled under their heavy bales of merchandise, which were slung on pliant sticks over their shoulders. The merchants bent low in salaams before the wealthyRoman, bowed down to the earth, kissed the ground which his foot had trodden, all eager to sell their exotic wares at a profit above the ordinary to so distinguished a traveller. The Phœnicians made their slaves spread out Damascus tapestry, but Lucius looked at it with scorn and the Phœnicians at once rolled up their inferior tapestry. Then, however, they displayed embroidery from Nineveh and Tyre; and Lucius turned a little pale, because he thought of Ilia. It was all very beautiful in hue and very curious in pattern.“Call Uncle Catullus here,” he said to Tarrar, who was squatting beside him like a faithful little monkey.Tarrar hastened to Catullus, who thereupon arrived, sleepily rubbing his eyes, in a wide silk indoor simar; his grey hair stood in a tangle around his bald skull.“Uncle,” said Lucius, aside, “look here, if you please. Those embroideries from Tyre and Nineveh: I want them. Bargain for them.”For Uncle Catullus knew how to bargain. He began by turning up his nose at the embroideries; and the merchants uttered loud cries of protest and lifted their handsand invoked all the gods. But Uncle Catullus scornfully shook his head and said:“No, I won’t buy that trash. Show me other things.”Then the Phœnicians showed gold vessels from Tartessus, but the Arabs offered perfumes and aromatics from Jeddah and Zebid. The Sabæans displayed wonderful amulets, which bring luck and blissful dreams: the Indians showed tame, trained snakes, as domestic pets: the snakes had a small sardonyx encrusted in their heads, where it had grown into their scaly skin, and they danced on the tips of their tails, to the piping of the Indians’ flutes. They were attractive little creatures and did not cost more than one stater apiece, with the ebony casket in which they were kept; and Lucius impatiently bought them at once, partly because Tarrar found them so attractive and grinned where he squatted and looked on while the snakes danced and twisted one among another.But at last a Mongolian merchant arrived, with a pale-yellow face and narrow eyes, which looked as though they were closed, and his hair, around his shaven head, ended in a pigtail of purple silk, with a tassel to it. This merchant offered little black balls, tobe smoked in peculiar pipes; he asked Lucius to accept a pipe and a couple of little black pills in a yellow-silk bag, without payment, and to smoke them when he had the opportunity. The intoxication which they produced was something very peculiar, said the merchant.Meanwhile Uncle Catullus had duly succeeded in acquiring the embroideries from Tyre and Nineveh at a really laughable price and presented them to his nephew, who of course paid for them in his stead. But, when Lucius held them in his hands—they were narrow strips embroidered with Assyrian lions and strange unicorns—he grew sad and said:“What use are they to me, after all? Time was when I should have given them to Ilia as a border for her stola. Tarrar, put the pretty embroideries away, with the Mongolian pills and all the other rubbish which I have bought without wanting to: the little gold vases and the Sabæan amulets.”“And the dear little snakes, my lord?” asked Tarrar, with glittering eyes.“You may keep them ... to play with,” said Lucius, carelessly.Meanwhile Caleb had had the cups ofsherbet handed round. Uncle Catullus thought it particularly good and considered that Lucius’ cook ought really to write down this Egyptian recipe; but Lucius gave his to Tarrar, who scooped up the sherbet greedily with his black fingers.

But Lucius did not sleep. Now that he was alone, he felt the agony of his suffering and affliction. He drew a sandal from a little casket, a woman’s blue-leather sandal adorned with gold relief and small, for all that Uncle Catullus was pleased to say. It was the only trace that Ilia had left behind her. And he kissed the sandal and groaned and stretched himself out impotently and clenched his fists and lay like that, staring before him without moving.

He lay lost in thought. And suddenly he struck the gong and summoned Tarrar, who entered nimbly and respectfully:

“Find Caleb and bring him here to me.”

The little slave returned in a short time and ushered in Caleb, who approached with graceful salaams. Tarrar left his master alone with the Sabæan.

“Caleb,” said Lucius, “sit down and listen. I need your advice.”

“Your faithful servant is listening, my lord,” said Caleb, sitting down on a chair.

“Caleb,” continued Lucius, “I have notcome to Egypt merely to see the things of interest which this country supplies. I have another object. There are mysterious oracles in Egypt; there are prophets and sibyls, so I am told, living in the desert. I want to know something. I want to know where some one is, one who is dear to me and far away. I want to consult the oracles and the prophets and sibyls. You must conduct me, without saying a word to my uncle or my tutor, because they do not approve of the attempts which I wish to make to find this person whom I love. Be my guide, Caleb, and I will reward you.”

“I will be your guide, my lord,” replied Caleb, “and this very night I will conduct you....”

“Where?”

“To the sibyl of Rhacotis, an old sorceress who knows everything.”

“We will go by ourselves, in secret.”

“Very well, my lord; no one shall accompany us.... What do you think: would you not like a cool sherbet after your rest? And divert yourself with looking at the goods which the travelling merchants from distant foreign lands, who happen to-day to be staying in the diversorium, have to offerfor sale? I will have the sherbet prepared and the merchants informed, my lord. And to-night I will lead you through Rhacotis: we will go by ourselves, my lord, and no one shall know anything of our nocturnal expedition.”

Caleb went away; Tarrar drew the curtains aside. Beyond the bedchamber was a pillared portico; and the green shadow of the palm-garden outside fell within doors. Uncle Catullus was still asleep, but Thrasyllus already sat reading his Egyptian guide-books at a table under a palm-tree. The wonderful, fantastic stories of Herodotus charmed the old tutor’s mind, which was not disinclined to fantasy; but Thrasyllus also took pleasure in the more succinct descriptions of the learned Eratosthenes, Ptolemy Evergetes’ librarian, who lived three centuries before and was a noted astronomer, philosopher and geographer. Thrasyllus loved to consult his splendid maps, which had never yet been bettered and which lay spread in heavy parchment on the table before him; and the tutor followed the cinnabar-traced Nile on these maps down to Ethiopia and the mysterious sources of the sacred stream.

Yes, Eratosthenes was the most respectable guide. When he went blind, in his eighty-second year, he starved himself. Thrasyllus honoured him as a martyr of science. But the tutor also consulted Artemidorus and Hypsicrates, for he wished to be well-informed about the country which he was about to visit, that mysterious country of age-old history and colossal art, while also he did not despise the quite modern writings of his contemporary, Strabo: what a contemporary told about a country over the whole of which he had travelled was perhaps most important of all, because of its practical utility and also because of the freshness of the new impressions.

So Thrasyllus sat under his palm-tree at a table strewn with unrolled papyri; more scrolls stood in a case by his side; and his fingers followed the cinnabar-traced Nile. Lucius in the portico smiled in kindly approval. But the travelling merchants, led by Caleb, arrived through the garden. They were Indians, Sabæans, Arabs, Phœnicians; and their slaves toiled under their heavy bales of merchandise, which were slung on pliant sticks over their shoulders. The merchants bent low in salaams before the wealthyRoman, bowed down to the earth, kissed the ground which his foot had trodden, all eager to sell their exotic wares at a profit above the ordinary to so distinguished a traveller. The Phœnicians made their slaves spread out Damascus tapestry, but Lucius looked at it with scorn and the Phœnicians at once rolled up their inferior tapestry. Then, however, they displayed embroidery from Nineveh and Tyre; and Lucius turned a little pale, because he thought of Ilia. It was all very beautiful in hue and very curious in pattern.

“Call Uncle Catullus here,” he said to Tarrar, who was squatting beside him like a faithful little monkey.

Tarrar hastened to Catullus, who thereupon arrived, sleepily rubbing his eyes, in a wide silk indoor simar; his grey hair stood in a tangle around his bald skull.

“Uncle,” said Lucius, aside, “look here, if you please. Those embroideries from Tyre and Nineveh: I want them. Bargain for them.”

For Uncle Catullus knew how to bargain. He began by turning up his nose at the embroideries; and the merchants uttered loud cries of protest and lifted their handsand invoked all the gods. But Uncle Catullus scornfully shook his head and said:

“No, I won’t buy that trash. Show me other things.”

Then the Phœnicians showed gold vessels from Tartessus, but the Arabs offered perfumes and aromatics from Jeddah and Zebid. The Sabæans displayed wonderful amulets, which bring luck and blissful dreams: the Indians showed tame, trained snakes, as domestic pets: the snakes had a small sardonyx encrusted in their heads, where it had grown into their scaly skin, and they danced on the tips of their tails, to the piping of the Indians’ flutes. They were attractive little creatures and did not cost more than one stater apiece, with the ebony casket in which they were kept; and Lucius impatiently bought them at once, partly because Tarrar found them so attractive and grinned where he squatted and looked on while the snakes danced and twisted one among another.

But at last a Mongolian merchant arrived, with a pale-yellow face and narrow eyes, which looked as though they were closed, and his hair, around his shaven head, ended in a pigtail of purple silk, with a tassel to it. This merchant offered little black balls, tobe smoked in peculiar pipes; he asked Lucius to accept a pipe and a couple of little black pills in a yellow-silk bag, without payment, and to smoke them when he had the opportunity. The intoxication which they produced was something very peculiar, said the merchant.

Meanwhile Uncle Catullus had duly succeeded in acquiring the embroideries from Tyre and Nineveh at a really laughable price and presented them to his nephew, who of course paid for them in his stead. But, when Lucius held them in his hands—they were narrow strips embroidered with Assyrian lions and strange unicorns—he grew sad and said:

“What use are they to me, after all? Time was when I should have given them to Ilia as a border for her stola. Tarrar, put the pretty embroideries away, with the Mongolian pills and all the other rubbish which I have bought without wanting to: the little gold vases and the Sabæan amulets.”

“And the dear little snakes, my lord?” asked Tarrar, with glittering eyes.

“You may keep them ... to play with,” said Lucius, carelessly.

Meanwhile Caleb had had the cups ofsherbet handed round. Uncle Catullus thought it particularly good and considered that Lucius’ cook ought really to write down this Egyptian recipe; but Lucius gave his to Tarrar, who scooped up the sherbet greedily with his black fingers.

Chapter VNight had fallen over the city, a dark, starless night. To escape attention, Lucius and Caleb mounted a small, inconspicuous litter at the back of the diversorium. Caleb sat at Lucius’ feet with his legs dangling out of the litter, which was lifted by four powerful Libyans, in preparation for departing at a trot.“Have you your dagger, my lord?” asked Caleb.Yes, Lucius had a dagger in his girdle.“And are you wearing your Sabæan amulets?”Yes, Lucius had hung the amulets which he had bought round his neck, for Caleb was full of confidence in these talismans of his country: the amulets warded off all ill-luck; Caleb himself wore amulets everywhere, on his chest and round his waist and even on a narrow gold bangle round his ankle.The bearers scurried through Bruchium and past the Gymnasium and the Museum, as though they had an enemy at their heels.They came to a square that lay higher than the Great Harbour; and Lucius looked out across the quays at the different harbours. Red and green and yellow lights and signals shone over a variegated, patched throng of ships and boats and swarming people. But the wonder to Lucius’ eyes was the light-house of Pharos. The nine storeys of the tall marble monument, stacked one on top of the other like so many cubes, each cube smaller than the one below, ended in a sort of cupola, where a heap of burning coal gleamed from immense mirrors and reflectors, which turned and turned continually, sending bright, broad rays from the summit of the tower upon the harbours, which they lit up each time, before stretching into the dark night. Sometimes the wide sheaves of light struck the high marble bridge of the Heptastadium, which led to the light-house itself and which at this hour was crowded with women and idlers.“My lord,” whispered Caleb, “would you not like to get out ... and walk ...there? The loveliest women in Alexandria are strolling yonder ... and you can take your choice.”Lucius shook his head:“I want to go to the sibyl,” he said.“Your lordship is sick,” said Caleb. “Your lordship is sick with longing and useless pining. The lovely women of Alexandria would cure your lordship. They have often curedme, my lord, when I was sick with longing and pining.”“Longing and pining for what, Caleb?”“For my country, for Saba, my lord, for Saba, the fairest and dearest country in the world, my lord, which I have had to leave ... for the sake of business, my lord, for the sake of business. For we do no business in Saba.”The four bearers trotted on. They were now trotting past the immemorial temple of Serapis, the Serapeum: sombre and grey it lay with its terraces below the Acropolis; and numbers of other shrines, also sombre, grey and mysterious, were ranged, with the needles of their obelisks, around the vast temple.“These shrines are deserted, my lord,” said Caleb, “and no longer find worshippers. Even the Serapeum is deserted ... for the temple of Serapis at Canopus. And the modern Alexandrians hold all this sacredquarter in but slight esteem since the quinquennial games were instituted at Nicopolis. All those who wish to do honour to Serapis repair to Nicopolis and Canopus. We will go there too, my lord, and you shall dream dreams full of import high up, on the roof of the temple.... Look, my lord, here we are, at Rhacotis....”The trotting bearers had left the aristocratic quarters. They were now hurrying through a narrower, sombre street.“We had better get out here, my lord, and walk,” said Caleb. “We shall find our litter here when we return.”Lucius and Caleb alighted. The sombre street was hardly lit, but was nevertheless swarming with people, including drunken sailors and fighting beldames.“It’s very different here, my lord, from the Heptastadium and Lake Mareotis. Here the people, soldiers and sailors take their pleasure. Here a dagger is drawn as quick as thought. Here is nothing but kennels and taverns. But every traveller who wants to know Alexandria comes here.... Look, my lord, here it is,” said Caleb, “here!”They had gone through a network of littlelanes and alleys and come to a square. At one corner an old, ragged philosopher stood arguing and expounding. Around him soldiers, sailors and wenches gathered, listening attentively to what he said of true wisdom. When he put out his hand for alms, two soldiers gave him some coppers, but the others laughed and pelted him with rotten vegetables. He fled and disappeared, pursued by yelping dogs that bit him in the skirt of his torn toga.“Will you not see the Syrian boys dance, my lord?” asked Caleb. “They dance so beautifully.”“No, I want to go to the sibyl,” Lucius answered, impatiently.“We are close to her dwelling, my lord,” Caleb declared.They almost fought their way through the crowd. The men cursed them because they pushed and the women flung themselves round their necks. Caleb drew his dagger and raised it threateningly. Other knives were drawn forthwith. There was a demoniacal yelling and din. But they succeeded in avoiding bloodshed.“I want to go to the sibyl,” Lucius repeated, panting and with his clenched fistspushing away two women who were hanging on to his arms.Lucius and Caleb now hurried through a reek of wine past the open brothels and reeking taverns. Caleb stopped in front of a small, narrow door and knocked. It was opened by a little Greek girl, pretty and delicate as a Tanagra figurine, with very large black eyes.“Is Herophila within?” asked Caleb. “A distinguished foreigner wishes to consult her.”“I will tell her,” said the girl.They entered a very narrow little chamber. A woman came from behind a curtain. She was shrouded in a white veil, like a phantom; she carried an earthenware lamp; and it was not possible to see if she was young or old.“Do you wish to know the future?” she asked, in a hollow voice.“No,” said Lucius, “I want to know the past and the present. I want to know where a girl named Ilia is and how she vanished from my house. Here is the sandal which she left behind: the only trace of her. If she ... is dead, can you make her appear before me, so that I may ask her?”“Yes,” said the sibyl, “I can. For I am descended from the witch of En-dor.”“Who was she?” asked Lucius.“The witch who made Samuel appear before Saul....”“I never heard of them,” said Lucius.“And another of my forbears was my honoured namesake, Herophila of Erythræ.”“Who was she?” asked Lucius.“She was the custodian of the shrine of Apollo Smintheus, the divine rat-killer. She prophesied to Hecuba the calamity which would cause the death of her son Paris, whom she was bearing in her womb.”“I never heard of her before,” Lucius repeated. “Tell me if Ilia is dead.”The sibyl pressed the blue-leather sandal to her head; and her other hand pressed Lucius’ forehead.“She isnotdead!” she cried, in a voice of rapture.“She isnotdead?”“No, Ilia lives!”“Where? Where is she?”The sibyl, in a trance, muttered incomprehensible sounds:“She appears ... she appears,” she stammered, at length.Suddenly, behind her, the curtains parted. There was nothing there but a smoking tripod. Thick fumes filled the apartment and rolled on high like a heavy curtain.“She appears ... she appears,” the sibyl went on stammering.Lucius stared breathlessly.Suddenly, in the fumes, a figure was vaguely outlined as of a dainty woman, flimsy and thin, a shade that moved to and fro.“I see her!” cried Lucius. “Ilia, Ilia! Speak one word to me! Come back to me! I cannot live without you!”The vision had vanished. The smoke clouded away. The curtains closed again.“It is difficult,” said the sibyl, faintly, “to hold the astral bodies of living persons for more than a single moment. I can summon the dead for you for a longer time. But Ilia is not dead.”“Then where is she?” cried Lucius.The sibyl now pressed the sandal to her forehead and her other hand lay on Lucius’ head:“I see her,” said the sibyl. “She is lyingin a boat, swooning.... The sea is raging.... Now rough, bearded men are hurrying her away....”“She is kidnapped!” cried Lucius. “By pirates?”“Yes!” cried the sibyl and fell into a faint.The pretty Greek girl appeared and said:“The fee is half a ptolemy, in gold....”Caleb paid.Lucius looked down in despair upon the swooning sibyl.“To-morrow night, my lord,” said the Greek girl, in a sing-song voice, “Herophila will be able to tell you more ... where Ilia was taken by the pirates.”But Lucius clenched his fists; he foamed at the mouth with sudden anger and roared:“She has merely read my own thoughts! No more! No more!”He glared round him like a madman, drew his dagger and made as though to fling himself upon the sibyl’s swooning body.“My lord! My lord!” shouted Caleb, holding him back and gripping him in his strong arms.The Greek girl, standing in front of thefainting woman, spread wide her arms and cried:“Do not murder a holy woman, my lord! Do not murder a poor, holy woman!”And, as she stood thus, Lucius saw that she was like the shade of Ilia ... and he burst into sobs.

Chapter V

Night had fallen over the city, a dark, starless night. To escape attention, Lucius and Caleb mounted a small, inconspicuous litter at the back of the diversorium. Caleb sat at Lucius’ feet with his legs dangling out of the litter, which was lifted by four powerful Libyans, in preparation for departing at a trot.“Have you your dagger, my lord?” asked Caleb.Yes, Lucius had a dagger in his girdle.“And are you wearing your Sabæan amulets?”Yes, Lucius had hung the amulets which he had bought round his neck, for Caleb was full of confidence in these talismans of his country: the amulets warded off all ill-luck; Caleb himself wore amulets everywhere, on his chest and round his waist and even on a narrow gold bangle round his ankle.The bearers scurried through Bruchium and past the Gymnasium and the Museum, as though they had an enemy at their heels.They came to a square that lay higher than the Great Harbour; and Lucius looked out across the quays at the different harbours. Red and green and yellow lights and signals shone over a variegated, patched throng of ships and boats and swarming people. But the wonder to Lucius’ eyes was the light-house of Pharos. The nine storeys of the tall marble monument, stacked one on top of the other like so many cubes, each cube smaller than the one below, ended in a sort of cupola, where a heap of burning coal gleamed from immense mirrors and reflectors, which turned and turned continually, sending bright, broad rays from the summit of the tower upon the harbours, which they lit up each time, before stretching into the dark night. Sometimes the wide sheaves of light struck the high marble bridge of the Heptastadium, which led to the light-house itself and which at this hour was crowded with women and idlers.“My lord,” whispered Caleb, “would you not like to get out ... and walk ...there? The loveliest women in Alexandria are strolling yonder ... and you can take your choice.”Lucius shook his head:“I want to go to the sibyl,” he said.“Your lordship is sick,” said Caleb. “Your lordship is sick with longing and useless pining. The lovely women of Alexandria would cure your lordship. They have often curedme, my lord, when I was sick with longing and pining.”“Longing and pining for what, Caleb?”“For my country, for Saba, my lord, for Saba, the fairest and dearest country in the world, my lord, which I have had to leave ... for the sake of business, my lord, for the sake of business. For we do no business in Saba.”The four bearers trotted on. They were now trotting past the immemorial temple of Serapis, the Serapeum: sombre and grey it lay with its terraces below the Acropolis; and numbers of other shrines, also sombre, grey and mysterious, were ranged, with the needles of their obelisks, around the vast temple.“These shrines are deserted, my lord,” said Caleb, “and no longer find worshippers. Even the Serapeum is deserted ... for the temple of Serapis at Canopus. And the modern Alexandrians hold all this sacredquarter in but slight esteem since the quinquennial games were instituted at Nicopolis. All those who wish to do honour to Serapis repair to Nicopolis and Canopus. We will go there too, my lord, and you shall dream dreams full of import high up, on the roof of the temple.... Look, my lord, here we are, at Rhacotis....”The trotting bearers had left the aristocratic quarters. They were now hurrying through a narrower, sombre street.“We had better get out here, my lord, and walk,” said Caleb. “We shall find our litter here when we return.”Lucius and Caleb alighted. The sombre street was hardly lit, but was nevertheless swarming with people, including drunken sailors and fighting beldames.“It’s very different here, my lord, from the Heptastadium and Lake Mareotis. Here the people, soldiers and sailors take their pleasure. Here a dagger is drawn as quick as thought. Here is nothing but kennels and taverns. But every traveller who wants to know Alexandria comes here.... Look, my lord, here it is,” said Caleb, “here!”They had gone through a network of littlelanes and alleys and come to a square. At one corner an old, ragged philosopher stood arguing and expounding. Around him soldiers, sailors and wenches gathered, listening attentively to what he said of true wisdom. When he put out his hand for alms, two soldiers gave him some coppers, but the others laughed and pelted him with rotten vegetables. He fled and disappeared, pursued by yelping dogs that bit him in the skirt of his torn toga.“Will you not see the Syrian boys dance, my lord?” asked Caleb. “They dance so beautifully.”“No, I want to go to the sibyl,” Lucius answered, impatiently.“We are close to her dwelling, my lord,” Caleb declared.They almost fought their way through the crowd. The men cursed them because they pushed and the women flung themselves round their necks. Caleb drew his dagger and raised it threateningly. Other knives were drawn forthwith. There was a demoniacal yelling and din. But they succeeded in avoiding bloodshed.“I want to go to the sibyl,” Lucius repeated, panting and with his clenched fistspushing away two women who were hanging on to his arms.Lucius and Caleb now hurried through a reek of wine past the open brothels and reeking taverns. Caleb stopped in front of a small, narrow door and knocked. It was opened by a little Greek girl, pretty and delicate as a Tanagra figurine, with very large black eyes.“Is Herophila within?” asked Caleb. “A distinguished foreigner wishes to consult her.”“I will tell her,” said the girl.They entered a very narrow little chamber. A woman came from behind a curtain. She was shrouded in a white veil, like a phantom; she carried an earthenware lamp; and it was not possible to see if she was young or old.“Do you wish to know the future?” she asked, in a hollow voice.“No,” said Lucius, “I want to know the past and the present. I want to know where a girl named Ilia is and how she vanished from my house. Here is the sandal which she left behind: the only trace of her. If she ... is dead, can you make her appear before me, so that I may ask her?”“Yes,” said the sibyl, “I can. For I am descended from the witch of En-dor.”“Who was she?” asked Lucius.“The witch who made Samuel appear before Saul....”“I never heard of them,” said Lucius.“And another of my forbears was my honoured namesake, Herophila of Erythræ.”“Who was she?” asked Lucius.“She was the custodian of the shrine of Apollo Smintheus, the divine rat-killer. She prophesied to Hecuba the calamity which would cause the death of her son Paris, whom she was bearing in her womb.”“I never heard of her before,” Lucius repeated. “Tell me if Ilia is dead.”The sibyl pressed the blue-leather sandal to her head; and her other hand pressed Lucius’ forehead.“She isnotdead!” she cried, in a voice of rapture.“She isnotdead?”“No, Ilia lives!”“Where? Where is she?”The sibyl, in a trance, muttered incomprehensible sounds:“She appears ... she appears,” she stammered, at length.Suddenly, behind her, the curtains parted. There was nothing there but a smoking tripod. Thick fumes filled the apartment and rolled on high like a heavy curtain.“She appears ... she appears,” the sibyl went on stammering.Lucius stared breathlessly.Suddenly, in the fumes, a figure was vaguely outlined as of a dainty woman, flimsy and thin, a shade that moved to and fro.“I see her!” cried Lucius. “Ilia, Ilia! Speak one word to me! Come back to me! I cannot live without you!”The vision had vanished. The smoke clouded away. The curtains closed again.“It is difficult,” said the sibyl, faintly, “to hold the astral bodies of living persons for more than a single moment. I can summon the dead for you for a longer time. But Ilia is not dead.”“Then where is she?” cried Lucius.The sibyl now pressed the sandal to her forehead and her other hand lay on Lucius’ head:“I see her,” said the sibyl. “She is lyingin a boat, swooning.... The sea is raging.... Now rough, bearded men are hurrying her away....”“She is kidnapped!” cried Lucius. “By pirates?”“Yes!” cried the sibyl and fell into a faint.The pretty Greek girl appeared and said:“The fee is half a ptolemy, in gold....”Caleb paid.Lucius looked down in despair upon the swooning sibyl.“To-morrow night, my lord,” said the Greek girl, in a sing-song voice, “Herophila will be able to tell you more ... where Ilia was taken by the pirates.”But Lucius clenched his fists; he foamed at the mouth with sudden anger and roared:“She has merely read my own thoughts! No more! No more!”He glared round him like a madman, drew his dagger and made as though to fling himself upon the sibyl’s swooning body.“My lord! My lord!” shouted Caleb, holding him back and gripping him in his strong arms.The Greek girl, standing in front of thefainting woman, spread wide her arms and cried:“Do not murder a holy woman, my lord! Do not murder a poor, holy woman!”And, as she stood thus, Lucius saw that she was like the shade of Ilia ... and he burst into sobs.

Night had fallen over the city, a dark, starless night. To escape attention, Lucius and Caleb mounted a small, inconspicuous litter at the back of the diversorium. Caleb sat at Lucius’ feet with his legs dangling out of the litter, which was lifted by four powerful Libyans, in preparation for departing at a trot.

“Have you your dagger, my lord?” asked Caleb.

Yes, Lucius had a dagger in his girdle.

“And are you wearing your Sabæan amulets?”

Yes, Lucius had hung the amulets which he had bought round his neck, for Caleb was full of confidence in these talismans of his country: the amulets warded off all ill-luck; Caleb himself wore amulets everywhere, on his chest and round his waist and even on a narrow gold bangle round his ankle.

The bearers scurried through Bruchium and past the Gymnasium and the Museum, as though they had an enemy at their heels.They came to a square that lay higher than the Great Harbour; and Lucius looked out across the quays at the different harbours. Red and green and yellow lights and signals shone over a variegated, patched throng of ships and boats and swarming people. But the wonder to Lucius’ eyes was the light-house of Pharos. The nine storeys of the tall marble monument, stacked one on top of the other like so many cubes, each cube smaller than the one below, ended in a sort of cupola, where a heap of burning coal gleamed from immense mirrors and reflectors, which turned and turned continually, sending bright, broad rays from the summit of the tower upon the harbours, which they lit up each time, before stretching into the dark night. Sometimes the wide sheaves of light struck the high marble bridge of the Heptastadium, which led to the light-house itself and which at this hour was crowded with women and idlers.

“My lord,” whispered Caleb, “would you not like to get out ... and walk ...there? The loveliest women in Alexandria are strolling yonder ... and you can take your choice.”

Lucius shook his head:

“I want to go to the sibyl,” he said.

“Your lordship is sick,” said Caleb. “Your lordship is sick with longing and useless pining. The lovely women of Alexandria would cure your lordship. They have often curedme, my lord, when I was sick with longing and pining.”

“Longing and pining for what, Caleb?”

“For my country, for Saba, my lord, for Saba, the fairest and dearest country in the world, my lord, which I have had to leave ... for the sake of business, my lord, for the sake of business. For we do no business in Saba.”

The four bearers trotted on. They were now trotting past the immemorial temple of Serapis, the Serapeum: sombre and grey it lay with its terraces below the Acropolis; and numbers of other shrines, also sombre, grey and mysterious, were ranged, with the needles of their obelisks, around the vast temple.

“These shrines are deserted, my lord,” said Caleb, “and no longer find worshippers. Even the Serapeum is deserted ... for the temple of Serapis at Canopus. And the modern Alexandrians hold all this sacredquarter in but slight esteem since the quinquennial games were instituted at Nicopolis. All those who wish to do honour to Serapis repair to Nicopolis and Canopus. We will go there too, my lord, and you shall dream dreams full of import high up, on the roof of the temple.... Look, my lord, here we are, at Rhacotis....”

The trotting bearers had left the aristocratic quarters. They were now hurrying through a narrower, sombre street.

“We had better get out here, my lord, and walk,” said Caleb. “We shall find our litter here when we return.”

Lucius and Caleb alighted. The sombre street was hardly lit, but was nevertheless swarming with people, including drunken sailors and fighting beldames.

“It’s very different here, my lord, from the Heptastadium and Lake Mareotis. Here the people, soldiers and sailors take their pleasure. Here a dagger is drawn as quick as thought. Here is nothing but kennels and taverns. But every traveller who wants to know Alexandria comes here.... Look, my lord, here it is,” said Caleb, “here!”

They had gone through a network of littlelanes and alleys and come to a square. At one corner an old, ragged philosopher stood arguing and expounding. Around him soldiers, sailors and wenches gathered, listening attentively to what he said of true wisdom. When he put out his hand for alms, two soldiers gave him some coppers, but the others laughed and pelted him with rotten vegetables. He fled and disappeared, pursued by yelping dogs that bit him in the skirt of his torn toga.

“Will you not see the Syrian boys dance, my lord?” asked Caleb. “They dance so beautifully.”

“No, I want to go to the sibyl,” Lucius answered, impatiently.

“We are close to her dwelling, my lord,” Caleb declared.

They almost fought their way through the crowd. The men cursed them because they pushed and the women flung themselves round their necks. Caleb drew his dagger and raised it threateningly. Other knives were drawn forthwith. There was a demoniacal yelling and din. But they succeeded in avoiding bloodshed.

“I want to go to the sibyl,” Lucius repeated, panting and with his clenched fistspushing away two women who were hanging on to his arms.

Lucius and Caleb now hurried through a reek of wine past the open brothels and reeking taverns. Caleb stopped in front of a small, narrow door and knocked. It was opened by a little Greek girl, pretty and delicate as a Tanagra figurine, with very large black eyes.

“Is Herophila within?” asked Caleb. “A distinguished foreigner wishes to consult her.”

“I will tell her,” said the girl.

They entered a very narrow little chamber. A woman came from behind a curtain. She was shrouded in a white veil, like a phantom; she carried an earthenware lamp; and it was not possible to see if she was young or old.

“Do you wish to know the future?” she asked, in a hollow voice.

“No,” said Lucius, “I want to know the past and the present. I want to know where a girl named Ilia is and how she vanished from my house. Here is the sandal which she left behind: the only trace of her. If she ... is dead, can you make her appear before me, so that I may ask her?”

“Yes,” said the sibyl, “I can. For I am descended from the witch of En-dor.”

“Who was she?” asked Lucius.

“The witch who made Samuel appear before Saul....”

“I never heard of them,” said Lucius.

“And another of my forbears was my honoured namesake, Herophila of Erythræ.”

“Who was she?” asked Lucius.

“She was the custodian of the shrine of Apollo Smintheus, the divine rat-killer. She prophesied to Hecuba the calamity which would cause the death of her son Paris, whom she was bearing in her womb.”

“I never heard of her before,” Lucius repeated. “Tell me if Ilia is dead.”

The sibyl pressed the blue-leather sandal to her head; and her other hand pressed Lucius’ forehead.

“She isnotdead!” she cried, in a voice of rapture.

“She isnotdead?”

“No, Ilia lives!”

“Where? Where is she?”

The sibyl, in a trance, muttered incomprehensible sounds:

“She appears ... she appears,” she stammered, at length.

Suddenly, behind her, the curtains parted. There was nothing there but a smoking tripod. Thick fumes filled the apartment and rolled on high like a heavy curtain.

“She appears ... she appears,” the sibyl went on stammering.

Lucius stared breathlessly.

Suddenly, in the fumes, a figure was vaguely outlined as of a dainty woman, flimsy and thin, a shade that moved to and fro.

“I see her!” cried Lucius. “Ilia, Ilia! Speak one word to me! Come back to me! I cannot live without you!”

The vision had vanished. The smoke clouded away. The curtains closed again.

“It is difficult,” said the sibyl, faintly, “to hold the astral bodies of living persons for more than a single moment. I can summon the dead for you for a longer time. But Ilia is not dead.”

“Then where is she?” cried Lucius.

The sibyl now pressed the sandal to her forehead and her other hand lay on Lucius’ head:

“I see her,” said the sibyl. “She is lyingin a boat, swooning.... The sea is raging.... Now rough, bearded men are hurrying her away....”

“She is kidnapped!” cried Lucius. “By pirates?”

“Yes!” cried the sibyl and fell into a faint.

The pretty Greek girl appeared and said:

“The fee is half a ptolemy, in gold....”

Caleb paid.

Lucius looked down in despair upon the swooning sibyl.

“To-morrow night, my lord,” said the Greek girl, in a sing-song voice, “Herophila will be able to tell you more ... where Ilia was taken by the pirates.”

But Lucius clenched his fists; he foamed at the mouth with sudden anger and roared:

“She has merely read my own thoughts! No more! No more!”

He glared round him like a madman, drew his dagger and made as though to fling himself upon the sibyl’s swooning body.

“My lord! My lord!” shouted Caleb, holding him back and gripping him in his strong arms.

The Greek girl, standing in front of thefainting woman, spread wide her arms and cried:

“Do not murder a holy woman, my lord! Do not murder a poor, holy woman!”

And, as she stood thus, Lucius saw that she was like the shade of Ilia ... and he burst into sobs.

Chapter VIThose were sad days. Lucius would lie on his bed, sobbing like a child, then rise suddenly, in transports of rage, tear his clothes or take up a stool and hurl it at a marble statue, which fell down in dust and fragments. He showed Thrasyllus the door; and Uncle Catullus kept out of the way. Lucius had ended by banging Tarrar against a table; and the little slave had a deep wound in his forehead. Caleb, who was a good hand at doctoring, had himself bandaged Tarrar’s head.Anxiously, in the palm-garden, the travelling merchants whispered about the wealthy Roman, who was sick with sorrow, and Uncle Catullus whispered in their company. Thrasyllus consoled himself by visiting the libraries of the Museum and the Serapeum. Lucius refused to hear any music. He did not leave his bed. He did not eat. He did not sleep. He looked unshaven, lean-cheeked and hollow-eyed, as one who was desperately sick.They were sad days. The first charm ofAlexandria was past; and Lucius cursed his journey, his whole life and everybody. In his impotent pain he groaned, sobbed and raved. Master Ghizla ordained silence and quiet around his rooms. Not a sandal creaked, not a voice sounded.Lucius listened to this stillness. It was after luncheon, which Uncle Catullus had taken alone with Thrasyllus. And in the burning sunny stillness of that glowing June Lucius suddenly heard a child sobbing.He rose from his couch. The sobs came from the back-garden; and Lucius raised the curtain and looked out. There, listening for his master’s gong, sat Tarrar, huddled, like a little monkey, in a gaudy coat. He wore a napkin round his head as a bandage. And he was weeping, with little sobs, as if he were in great sorrow.“Tarrar!” cried Lucius.The little slave started up:“My lord!” he answered.And he rose and approached with comical reverence and sobbed.“Tarrar,” said Lucius, “why are you weeping? Are you in pain?”“No, my lord,” said Tarrar. “I beg pardon, my lord, for weeping. I must not weepin your august presence. I humbly beg your pardon, my lord. But I am weeping because ... because ... because I am so unhappy.”“And why are you unhappy? Because I struck you? Because you are in pain? Because you fell and made a hole in your head?”“No, my lord,” said Tarrar, trying to control himself, “not because you struck me. I am your little slave, my lord, and you have the right to strike me. And also not because I am in pain: there is only a little burning pain now, for Caleb bandaged my head this morning with cool ointment. The hole is not so very deep either; and, when it is healed, the scar will remind me that I belong to you, my lord, and that I am your little slave.”“But then why are you weeping, Tarrar, and why are you unhappy?”“I am weeping, my lord,” Tarrar began, “because....”And then he could restrain himself no longer, comical, respectful little monkey that he was, and sobbed aloud.Lucius laid his hand on the boy’s curly head:“Why are you weeping, child?”“Because the snakes wouldn’t dance any more!” sobbed Tarrar, in despair. “Because one of them is dead and the other gone, for it crept out of its skin and left its skin behind! Because, whatever pains I took to pipe the magic tune on the flute—in the garden behind the house, so as not to make a noise or disturb you—the snakes wouldnotdance any more ... as they did when the merchant piped to them! And because now ... one of the snakes is dead, my lord, and the other crept away out of its skin!”And Tarrar, overcome with misery, sobbed aloud and showed his master the snake and the ebony casket, from which a skin hung, with a square piece of glass gummed to the head.Lucius gave a melancholy smile. Was he not himself miserable, like Tarrar, because he too had been robbed of his plaything? And he said:“Come with me, Tarrar.”And he took the little slave by the hand and led him to his room.He sat down, with Tarrar standing in front of him. Then he said:“Tarrar, I am sorry for hurting you so badly. Forgive me, Tarrar.”But Tarrar shook his head:“It is not for me to forgive you, my lord,” he said, earnestly, with great, dim eyes. “You are the master.”“Tarrar,” Lucius continued, “when we are back in Rome, you shall be free. I will set you free. And you shall no longer be a little slave. But you shall go to school, to the freedmen’s college. And learn all sorts of things. And become very clever, like Thrasyllus. And I will give you money. And you will be able to do whatever you please.”Tarrar was a little taken aback:“You are very kind, my lord,” he said. “But, if I go to school, who will fold your clothes? And listen for your gong? You are not driving me away, my lord, because I was so unhappy? I would rather stay with you, my lord, I would rather remain your little slave ... and I will never again be so disrespectful as to weep.... I would rather remain your stupid little slave.”“You shall be free, Tarrar. But you willbe allowed to serve me all the same.”“I don’t want to be free, my lord. What use is freedom to me? I am your little slave. I should always be your little slave just as before.”“Then ask me something else, Tarrar, something that you would like very much.”Tarrar grinned with his white teeth through his tears:“May I tell you, my lord?”“Yes.”Tarrar hesitated. Then he said, shyly:“Two other little dancing snakes, my lord.”Lucius laughed softly:“Child!” he said. “I will give you two other little snakes! But I fear that those also will refuse to dance as only the Indian merchant can make them dance.”“I fear so too,” said Tarrar, reflecting. “The snake that is still alive has crept back to the merchant, I expect, out of the skin which it left behind it. I also fear that the new snakes would refuse to dance.... Then I would rather have nothing, my lord. I don’t want anything. If only I may serve you.”“Then get everything ready to shaveme ... and tell the slaves to prepare the bath.”“Yes, my lord,” said Tarrar, with alacrity.

Chapter VI

Those were sad days. Lucius would lie on his bed, sobbing like a child, then rise suddenly, in transports of rage, tear his clothes or take up a stool and hurl it at a marble statue, which fell down in dust and fragments. He showed Thrasyllus the door; and Uncle Catullus kept out of the way. Lucius had ended by banging Tarrar against a table; and the little slave had a deep wound in his forehead. Caleb, who was a good hand at doctoring, had himself bandaged Tarrar’s head.Anxiously, in the palm-garden, the travelling merchants whispered about the wealthy Roman, who was sick with sorrow, and Uncle Catullus whispered in their company. Thrasyllus consoled himself by visiting the libraries of the Museum and the Serapeum. Lucius refused to hear any music. He did not leave his bed. He did not eat. He did not sleep. He looked unshaven, lean-cheeked and hollow-eyed, as one who was desperately sick.They were sad days. The first charm ofAlexandria was past; and Lucius cursed his journey, his whole life and everybody. In his impotent pain he groaned, sobbed and raved. Master Ghizla ordained silence and quiet around his rooms. Not a sandal creaked, not a voice sounded.Lucius listened to this stillness. It was after luncheon, which Uncle Catullus had taken alone with Thrasyllus. And in the burning sunny stillness of that glowing June Lucius suddenly heard a child sobbing.He rose from his couch. The sobs came from the back-garden; and Lucius raised the curtain and looked out. There, listening for his master’s gong, sat Tarrar, huddled, like a little monkey, in a gaudy coat. He wore a napkin round his head as a bandage. And he was weeping, with little sobs, as if he were in great sorrow.“Tarrar!” cried Lucius.The little slave started up:“My lord!” he answered.And he rose and approached with comical reverence and sobbed.“Tarrar,” said Lucius, “why are you weeping? Are you in pain?”“No, my lord,” said Tarrar. “I beg pardon, my lord, for weeping. I must not weepin your august presence. I humbly beg your pardon, my lord. But I am weeping because ... because ... because I am so unhappy.”“And why are you unhappy? Because I struck you? Because you are in pain? Because you fell and made a hole in your head?”“No, my lord,” said Tarrar, trying to control himself, “not because you struck me. I am your little slave, my lord, and you have the right to strike me. And also not because I am in pain: there is only a little burning pain now, for Caleb bandaged my head this morning with cool ointment. The hole is not so very deep either; and, when it is healed, the scar will remind me that I belong to you, my lord, and that I am your little slave.”“But then why are you weeping, Tarrar, and why are you unhappy?”“I am weeping, my lord,” Tarrar began, “because....”And then he could restrain himself no longer, comical, respectful little monkey that he was, and sobbed aloud.Lucius laid his hand on the boy’s curly head:“Why are you weeping, child?”“Because the snakes wouldn’t dance any more!” sobbed Tarrar, in despair. “Because one of them is dead and the other gone, for it crept out of its skin and left its skin behind! Because, whatever pains I took to pipe the magic tune on the flute—in the garden behind the house, so as not to make a noise or disturb you—the snakes wouldnotdance any more ... as they did when the merchant piped to them! And because now ... one of the snakes is dead, my lord, and the other crept away out of its skin!”And Tarrar, overcome with misery, sobbed aloud and showed his master the snake and the ebony casket, from which a skin hung, with a square piece of glass gummed to the head.Lucius gave a melancholy smile. Was he not himself miserable, like Tarrar, because he too had been robbed of his plaything? And he said:“Come with me, Tarrar.”And he took the little slave by the hand and led him to his room.He sat down, with Tarrar standing in front of him. Then he said:“Tarrar, I am sorry for hurting you so badly. Forgive me, Tarrar.”But Tarrar shook his head:“It is not for me to forgive you, my lord,” he said, earnestly, with great, dim eyes. “You are the master.”“Tarrar,” Lucius continued, “when we are back in Rome, you shall be free. I will set you free. And you shall no longer be a little slave. But you shall go to school, to the freedmen’s college. And learn all sorts of things. And become very clever, like Thrasyllus. And I will give you money. And you will be able to do whatever you please.”Tarrar was a little taken aback:“You are very kind, my lord,” he said. “But, if I go to school, who will fold your clothes? And listen for your gong? You are not driving me away, my lord, because I was so unhappy? I would rather stay with you, my lord, I would rather remain your little slave ... and I will never again be so disrespectful as to weep.... I would rather remain your stupid little slave.”“You shall be free, Tarrar. But you willbe allowed to serve me all the same.”“I don’t want to be free, my lord. What use is freedom to me? I am your little slave. I should always be your little slave just as before.”“Then ask me something else, Tarrar, something that you would like very much.”Tarrar grinned with his white teeth through his tears:“May I tell you, my lord?”“Yes.”Tarrar hesitated. Then he said, shyly:“Two other little dancing snakes, my lord.”Lucius laughed softly:“Child!” he said. “I will give you two other little snakes! But I fear that those also will refuse to dance as only the Indian merchant can make them dance.”“I fear so too,” said Tarrar, reflecting. “The snake that is still alive has crept back to the merchant, I expect, out of the skin which it left behind it. I also fear that the new snakes would refuse to dance.... Then I would rather have nothing, my lord. I don’t want anything. If only I may serve you.”“Then get everything ready to shaveme ... and tell the slaves to prepare the bath.”“Yes, my lord,” said Tarrar, with alacrity.

Those were sad days. Lucius would lie on his bed, sobbing like a child, then rise suddenly, in transports of rage, tear his clothes or take up a stool and hurl it at a marble statue, which fell down in dust and fragments. He showed Thrasyllus the door; and Uncle Catullus kept out of the way. Lucius had ended by banging Tarrar against a table; and the little slave had a deep wound in his forehead. Caleb, who was a good hand at doctoring, had himself bandaged Tarrar’s head.

Anxiously, in the palm-garden, the travelling merchants whispered about the wealthy Roman, who was sick with sorrow, and Uncle Catullus whispered in their company. Thrasyllus consoled himself by visiting the libraries of the Museum and the Serapeum. Lucius refused to hear any music. He did not leave his bed. He did not eat. He did not sleep. He looked unshaven, lean-cheeked and hollow-eyed, as one who was desperately sick.

They were sad days. The first charm ofAlexandria was past; and Lucius cursed his journey, his whole life and everybody. In his impotent pain he groaned, sobbed and raved. Master Ghizla ordained silence and quiet around his rooms. Not a sandal creaked, not a voice sounded.

Lucius listened to this stillness. It was after luncheon, which Uncle Catullus had taken alone with Thrasyllus. And in the burning sunny stillness of that glowing June Lucius suddenly heard a child sobbing.

He rose from his couch. The sobs came from the back-garden; and Lucius raised the curtain and looked out. There, listening for his master’s gong, sat Tarrar, huddled, like a little monkey, in a gaudy coat. He wore a napkin round his head as a bandage. And he was weeping, with little sobs, as if he were in great sorrow.

“Tarrar!” cried Lucius.

The little slave started up:

“My lord!” he answered.

And he rose and approached with comical reverence and sobbed.

“Tarrar,” said Lucius, “why are you weeping? Are you in pain?”

“No, my lord,” said Tarrar. “I beg pardon, my lord, for weeping. I must not weepin your august presence. I humbly beg your pardon, my lord. But I am weeping because ... because ... because I am so unhappy.”

“And why are you unhappy? Because I struck you? Because you are in pain? Because you fell and made a hole in your head?”

“No, my lord,” said Tarrar, trying to control himself, “not because you struck me. I am your little slave, my lord, and you have the right to strike me. And also not because I am in pain: there is only a little burning pain now, for Caleb bandaged my head this morning with cool ointment. The hole is not so very deep either; and, when it is healed, the scar will remind me that I belong to you, my lord, and that I am your little slave.”

“But then why are you weeping, Tarrar, and why are you unhappy?”

“I am weeping, my lord,” Tarrar began, “because....”

And then he could restrain himself no longer, comical, respectful little monkey that he was, and sobbed aloud.

Lucius laid his hand on the boy’s curly head:

“Why are you weeping, child?”

“Because the snakes wouldn’t dance any more!” sobbed Tarrar, in despair. “Because one of them is dead and the other gone, for it crept out of its skin and left its skin behind! Because, whatever pains I took to pipe the magic tune on the flute—in the garden behind the house, so as not to make a noise or disturb you—the snakes wouldnotdance any more ... as they did when the merchant piped to them! And because now ... one of the snakes is dead, my lord, and the other crept away out of its skin!”

And Tarrar, overcome with misery, sobbed aloud and showed his master the snake and the ebony casket, from which a skin hung, with a square piece of glass gummed to the head.

Lucius gave a melancholy smile. Was he not himself miserable, like Tarrar, because he too had been robbed of his plaything? And he said:

“Come with me, Tarrar.”

And he took the little slave by the hand and led him to his room.

He sat down, with Tarrar standing in front of him. Then he said:

“Tarrar, I am sorry for hurting you so badly. Forgive me, Tarrar.”

But Tarrar shook his head:

“It is not for me to forgive you, my lord,” he said, earnestly, with great, dim eyes. “You are the master.”

“Tarrar,” Lucius continued, “when we are back in Rome, you shall be free. I will set you free. And you shall no longer be a little slave. But you shall go to school, to the freedmen’s college. And learn all sorts of things. And become very clever, like Thrasyllus. And I will give you money. And you will be able to do whatever you please.”

Tarrar was a little taken aback:

“You are very kind, my lord,” he said. “But, if I go to school, who will fold your clothes? And listen for your gong? You are not driving me away, my lord, because I was so unhappy? I would rather stay with you, my lord, I would rather remain your little slave ... and I will never again be so disrespectful as to weep.... I would rather remain your stupid little slave.”

“You shall be free, Tarrar. But you willbe allowed to serve me all the same.”

“I don’t want to be free, my lord. What use is freedom to me? I am your little slave. I should always be your little slave just as before.”

“Then ask me something else, Tarrar, something that you would like very much.”

Tarrar grinned with his white teeth through his tears:

“May I tell you, my lord?”

“Yes.”

Tarrar hesitated. Then he said, shyly:

“Two other little dancing snakes, my lord.”

Lucius laughed softly:

“Child!” he said. “I will give you two other little snakes! But I fear that those also will refuse to dance as only the Indian merchant can make them dance.”

“I fear so too,” said Tarrar, reflecting. “The snake that is still alive has crept back to the merchant, I expect, out of the skin which it left behind it. I also fear that the new snakes would refuse to dance.... Then I would rather have nothing, my lord. I don’t want anything. If only I may serve you.”

“Then get everything ready to shaveme ... and tell the slaves to prepare the bath.”

“Yes, my lord,” said Tarrar, with alacrity.

Chapter VII“Mother of Eros, hear thy slave!“Child of the foam, great goddess of love,Aphrodite, look down from above!Thou, who dost madden the gods with desire,Thou, who fulfillest men’s hearts with thy fire,All but the heart of my lord that I crave,Hark to thy slave!“Spill this hot blood that courses in vain for him,Darken these eyes that are heavy with pain for him,Smite the parched lips that he sees but to spurn them,The hands stretched in love ... take them, break them and burn them!“Then, in the place where lately he strode,Mingle mine ash with the dust of the road;Thus, though I win not a glance from his eye,Thus, though as ever he pass me byCareless, unseeing, at least my lord’s heelCannot but touch me, at least I shall feelThe embrace of his foot; and his sandall’d soleShall kiss my dust and make me whole.“Then let the heart that he has press’d,The ashen lips by him caressedSink low in the lowly dust of the roadLest another tread where late he trod.“Mother of Eros, hear thy slave!“Child of the foam, great goddess of love,Aphrodite, look down from above!Thou, who dost madden the gods with desire,Thou, who fulfillest men’s hearts with thy fire,All but the heart of my lord that I crave,Hark to thy slave!”Cora’s song rang through the falling night. Her clear voice, tinkling as though with little golden bells, at first soft and hushed, rose throbbing in passion and then broke like a crystal ray and melted in mournfulness and plaintive prayer.The shadows lay heaped under the palm-trees. Outside the doors of their apartments, in the galleries of the diversorium, sat the travelling merchants, squatting or lying on mat or rug, listening. Uncle Catullus lay in a hammock and Thrasyllus sat beside him and looked up at the stars, which were beginning to show like silver daisies in wide, blue meadows.“You have sung beautifully, Cora,” said Uncle Catullus to the slave, who was sitting on the ground with the four-stringed harp before her.“Thank you, my lord,” said the slave.“Why not call me uncle?” said Catullus, good-naturedly.“I should not dare,” said Cora, smiling.“Ilia used to call me uncle.”“I am not Ilia, my lord.”Tarrar appeared in the pillared portico.But his appearance was a surprise. For Tarrar, no longer bandaged, looked like a little savage: he wore his Libyan festive garment; a girdle of feathers hung round his waist; he was crowned with a head-dress of feathers. And he stood grinning.“Great gods, Tarrar!” cried Uncle Catullus, with a start. “What have you done to yourself? You look like a little cannibal! You frighten me! What’s happening?”“We are going to Canopus, my lord, to-night!” cried Tarrar, jubilantly. “My Lord Lucius lets you know that we are all going to Canopus this very night! Here is his lordship himself!”And Tarrar pointed triumphantly to Lucius, who appeared upon the threshold. Cora had risen and now curtseyed low to the ground, with outstretched arms.Lucius looked like a young Egyptian god. He wore an Egyptian robe of striped byssus, with a border of hieroglyphics worked in heavy embroidery and precious stones; his legs were encased in hose of gold tissue; about his head was an Egyptian coif, likethat of a sphinx, with broad, projecting, striped bands, which fell to his shoulders; he glittered with strange jewels and was wrapped from head to foot in fine gold net like a transparent cloak, like an immaterial shroud. And he approached with a smile, brilliantly, superhumanly beautiful.“Great sacred gods! Great sacred gods!” exclaimed Uncle Catullus.He rose; Thrasyllus rose too; and the merchants gathered round and, in salaam upon salaam, showed their admiration for the dazzling stranger.“Lucius, what possesses you? What is happening? Have you turned into Serapis himself?”“No, uncle,” smiled Lucius, “I am merely clad in ceremonial raiment because I want to go to Canopus and dream on the roof of the temple of Serapis. It is the great feast; and Caleb”—he pointed to Caleb stepping forward—“has persuaded me to go this night in state to Canopus. You are coming too, uncle; you also, Thrasyllus; we shall all go, all my freedmen and slaves. Caleb will see about a boat.”A violent and feverish excitement followed. Slaves, male and female, streamedfrom every side of the diversorium, rejoicing and clasping their hands in amazement.“When any princely noble, such as his lordship,” Caleb explained, “goes to Canopus, to the feast of Serapis thrice holy, he goes in the greatest state, with all his household to accompany him.”“So I am going too, as I belong to the household?” exclaimed Uncle Catullus. “Only ... am I to rig myself out like that? And where shall I find such a sumptuous raiment?”“My lord,” said Caleb, “you will find everything ready in your chamber. You too, Master Thrasyllus.”Uncle Catullus hurried away, clasping his fat stomach in his two hands. You never knew where you were with that Lucius! For days and days he had been mourning and sobbing and lamenting; he had remained invisible and had eaten nothing ... and there, there he appeared, decked out like a young god, and wanted to go to Canopus, to dream on the roof of the temple!“And I had just been reckoning on a quiet evening, because I feel that I’ve overloaded my stomach!” moaned Uncle Catullus. “Egypt will be the death of me!”Lights everywhere, links and torches; fever and gaiety everywhere, because one and all were going to Canopus that night. What a surprise! Their lord was no longer sick! It was the great feast! It was the feast of Serapis! The feast of dreams! The water-festival and the boat-festival! It was the summer festival of Canopus!Vettius and Rufus, the two stewards, gave orders here, there and everywhere. One and all, they said, were to deck themselves in festive garb. Ione, the old female slave, who had charge of the harpists and dancers, was given leave to buy from the merchants whatever she needed, veils and ornaments.“We are going to Canopus, we are going to Canopus!” cried the women, in joyful chorus. “Quick, Ione, hand me the poppy-rouge! Here, a stick of antimony! I want a blue veil, Ione, and blue lotus-flowers for my hair! Quick, quick, Ione! The master is ready!”“We are going to Canopus, we are going to Canopus!” Cora cried, joyfully, with the rest. “My lord was like a young god, he looked like Serapis himself! Ione, I must have a net of gold thread and a dreaming-veil of gold thread and pink water-lilies formy hair! I want a wreath of pink water-lilies!”Lucius from afar beheld this stir, in the reflection of the lamps and torches in the night. Slaves were running to and fro; litters were prepared. He thought only of Ilia. He wanted to wrap himself in the dreaming-veil and to lie on the temple-roof and dream where Ilia was, where she had been carried ... by the pirates. And he stood like a priest, gazing solemnly before him.

Chapter VII“Mother of Eros, hear thy slave!“Child of the foam, great goddess of love,Aphrodite, look down from above!Thou, who dost madden the gods with desire,Thou, who fulfillest men’s hearts with thy fire,All but the heart of my lord that I crave,Hark to thy slave!“Spill this hot blood that courses in vain for him,Darken these eyes that are heavy with pain for him,Smite the parched lips that he sees but to spurn them,The hands stretched in love ... take them, break them and burn them!“Then, in the place where lately he strode,Mingle mine ash with the dust of the road;Thus, though I win not a glance from his eye,Thus, though as ever he pass me byCareless, unseeing, at least my lord’s heelCannot but touch me, at least I shall feelThe embrace of his foot; and his sandall’d soleShall kiss my dust and make me whole.“Then let the heart that he has press’d,The ashen lips by him caressedSink low in the lowly dust of the roadLest another tread where late he trod.“Mother of Eros, hear thy slave!“Child of the foam, great goddess of love,Aphrodite, look down from above!Thou, who dost madden the gods with desire,Thou, who fulfillest men’s hearts with thy fire,All but the heart of my lord that I crave,Hark to thy slave!”

“Mother of Eros, hear thy slave!“Child of the foam, great goddess of love,Aphrodite, look down from above!Thou, who dost madden the gods with desire,Thou, who fulfillest men’s hearts with thy fire,All but the heart of my lord that I crave,Hark to thy slave!“Spill this hot blood that courses in vain for him,Darken these eyes that are heavy with pain for him,Smite the parched lips that he sees but to spurn them,The hands stretched in love ... take them, break them and burn them!“Then, in the place where lately he strode,Mingle mine ash with the dust of the road;Thus, though I win not a glance from his eye,Thus, though as ever he pass me byCareless, unseeing, at least my lord’s heelCannot but touch me, at least I shall feelThe embrace of his foot; and his sandall’d soleShall kiss my dust and make me whole.“Then let the heart that he has press’d,The ashen lips by him caressedSink low in the lowly dust of the roadLest another tread where late he trod.“Mother of Eros, hear thy slave!“Child of the foam, great goddess of love,Aphrodite, look down from above!Thou, who dost madden the gods with desire,Thou, who fulfillest men’s hearts with thy fire,All but the heart of my lord that I crave,Hark to thy slave!”

“Mother of Eros, hear thy slave!“Child of the foam, great goddess of love,Aphrodite, look down from above!Thou, who dost madden the gods with desire,Thou, who fulfillest men’s hearts with thy fire,All but the heart of my lord that I crave,Hark to thy slave!“Spill this hot blood that courses in vain for him,Darken these eyes that are heavy with pain for him,Smite the parched lips that he sees but to spurn them,The hands stretched in love ... take them, break them and burn them!“Then, in the place where lately he strode,Mingle mine ash with the dust of the road;Thus, though I win not a glance from his eye,Thus, though as ever he pass me byCareless, unseeing, at least my lord’s heelCannot but touch me, at least I shall feelThe embrace of his foot; and his sandall’d soleShall kiss my dust and make me whole.“Then let the heart that he has press’d,The ashen lips by him caressedSink low in the lowly dust of the roadLest another tread where late he trod.“Mother of Eros, hear thy slave!“Child of the foam, great goddess of love,Aphrodite, look down from above!Thou, who dost madden the gods with desire,Thou, who fulfillest men’s hearts with thy fire,All but the heart of my lord that I crave,Hark to thy slave!”

“Mother of Eros, hear thy slave!

“Mother of Eros, hear thy slave!

“Child of the foam, great goddess of love,Aphrodite, look down from above!Thou, who dost madden the gods with desire,Thou, who fulfillest men’s hearts with thy fire,All but the heart of my lord that I crave,Hark to thy slave!

“Child of the foam, great goddess of love,

Aphrodite, look down from above!

Thou, who dost madden the gods with desire,

Thou, who fulfillest men’s hearts with thy fire,

All but the heart of my lord that I crave,

Hark to thy slave!

“Spill this hot blood that courses in vain for him,Darken these eyes that are heavy with pain for him,Smite the parched lips that he sees but to spurn them,The hands stretched in love ... take them, break them and burn them!

“Spill this hot blood that courses in vain for him,

Darken these eyes that are heavy with pain for him,

Smite the parched lips that he sees but to spurn them,

The hands stretched in love ... take them, break them and burn them!

“Then, in the place where lately he strode,Mingle mine ash with the dust of the road;Thus, though I win not a glance from his eye,Thus, though as ever he pass me byCareless, unseeing, at least my lord’s heelCannot but touch me, at least I shall feelThe embrace of his foot; and his sandall’d soleShall kiss my dust and make me whole.

“Then, in the place where lately he strode,

Mingle mine ash with the dust of the road;

Thus, though I win not a glance from his eye,

Thus, though as ever he pass me by

Careless, unseeing, at least my lord’s heel

Cannot but touch me, at least I shall feel

The embrace of his foot; and his sandall’d sole

Shall kiss my dust and make me whole.

“Then let the heart that he has press’d,The ashen lips by him caressedSink low in the lowly dust of the roadLest another tread where late he trod.

“Then let the heart that he has press’d,

The ashen lips by him caressed

Sink low in the lowly dust of the road

Lest another tread where late he trod.

“Mother of Eros, hear thy slave!

“Mother of Eros, hear thy slave!

“Child of the foam, great goddess of love,Aphrodite, look down from above!Thou, who dost madden the gods with desire,Thou, who fulfillest men’s hearts with thy fire,All but the heart of my lord that I crave,Hark to thy slave!”

“Child of the foam, great goddess of love,

Aphrodite, look down from above!

Thou, who dost madden the gods with desire,

Thou, who fulfillest men’s hearts with thy fire,

All but the heart of my lord that I crave,

Hark to thy slave!”

Cora’s song rang through the falling night. Her clear voice, tinkling as though with little golden bells, at first soft and hushed, rose throbbing in passion and then broke like a crystal ray and melted in mournfulness and plaintive prayer.The shadows lay heaped under the palm-trees. Outside the doors of their apartments, in the galleries of the diversorium, sat the travelling merchants, squatting or lying on mat or rug, listening. Uncle Catullus lay in a hammock and Thrasyllus sat beside him and looked up at the stars, which were beginning to show like silver daisies in wide, blue meadows.“You have sung beautifully, Cora,” said Uncle Catullus to the slave, who was sitting on the ground with the four-stringed harp before her.“Thank you, my lord,” said the slave.“Why not call me uncle?” said Catullus, good-naturedly.“I should not dare,” said Cora, smiling.“Ilia used to call me uncle.”“I am not Ilia, my lord.”Tarrar appeared in the pillared portico.But his appearance was a surprise. For Tarrar, no longer bandaged, looked like a little savage: he wore his Libyan festive garment; a girdle of feathers hung round his waist; he was crowned with a head-dress of feathers. And he stood grinning.“Great gods, Tarrar!” cried Uncle Catullus, with a start. “What have you done to yourself? You look like a little cannibal! You frighten me! What’s happening?”“We are going to Canopus, my lord, to-night!” cried Tarrar, jubilantly. “My Lord Lucius lets you know that we are all going to Canopus this very night! Here is his lordship himself!”And Tarrar pointed triumphantly to Lucius, who appeared upon the threshold. Cora had risen and now curtseyed low to the ground, with outstretched arms.Lucius looked like a young Egyptian god. He wore an Egyptian robe of striped byssus, with a border of hieroglyphics worked in heavy embroidery and precious stones; his legs were encased in hose of gold tissue; about his head was an Egyptian coif, likethat of a sphinx, with broad, projecting, striped bands, which fell to his shoulders; he glittered with strange jewels and was wrapped from head to foot in fine gold net like a transparent cloak, like an immaterial shroud. And he approached with a smile, brilliantly, superhumanly beautiful.“Great sacred gods! Great sacred gods!” exclaimed Uncle Catullus.He rose; Thrasyllus rose too; and the merchants gathered round and, in salaam upon salaam, showed their admiration for the dazzling stranger.“Lucius, what possesses you? What is happening? Have you turned into Serapis himself?”“No, uncle,” smiled Lucius, “I am merely clad in ceremonial raiment because I want to go to Canopus and dream on the roof of the temple of Serapis. It is the great feast; and Caleb”—he pointed to Caleb stepping forward—“has persuaded me to go this night in state to Canopus. You are coming too, uncle; you also, Thrasyllus; we shall all go, all my freedmen and slaves. Caleb will see about a boat.”A violent and feverish excitement followed. Slaves, male and female, streamedfrom every side of the diversorium, rejoicing and clasping their hands in amazement.“When any princely noble, such as his lordship,” Caleb explained, “goes to Canopus, to the feast of Serapis thrice holy, he goes in the greatest state, with all his household to accompany him.”“So I am going too, as I belong to the household?” exclaimed Uncle Catullus. “Only ... am I to rig myself out like that? And where shall I find such a sumptuous raiment?”“My lord,” said Caleb, “you will find everything ready in your chamber. You too, Master Thrasyllus.”Uncle Catullus hurried away, clasping his fat stomach in his two hands. You never knew where you were with that Lucius! For days and days he had been mourning and sobbing and lamenting; he had remained invisible and had eaten nothing ... and there, there he appeared, decked out like a young god, and wanted to go to Canopus, to dream on the roof of the temple!“And I had just been reckoning on a quiet evening, because I feel that I’ve overloaded my stomach!” moaned Uncle Catullus. “Egypt will be the death of me!”Lights everywhere, links and torches; fever and gaiety everywhere, because one and all were going to Canopus that night. What a surprise! Their lord was no longer sick! It was the great feast! It was the feast of Serapis! The feast of dreams! The water-festival and the boat-festival! It was the summer festival of Canopus!Vettius and Rufus, the two stewards, gave orders here, there and everywhere. One and all, they said, were to deck themselves in festive garb. Ione, the old female slave, who had charge of the harpists and dancers, was given leave to buy from the merchants whatever she needed, veils and ornaments.“We are going to Canopus, we are going to Canopus!” cried the women, in joyful chorus. “Quick, Ione, hand me the poppy-rouge! Here, a stick of antimony! I want a blue veil, Ione, and blue lotus-flowers for my hair! Quick, quick, Ione! The master is ready!”“We are going to Canopus, we are going to Canopus!” Cora cried, joyfully, with the rest. “My lord was like a young god, he looked like Serapis himself! Ione, I must have a net of gold thread and a dreaming-veil of gold thread and pink water-lilies formy hair! I want a wreath of pink water-lilies!”Lucius from afar beheld this stir, in the reflection of the lamps and torches in the night. Slaves were running to and fro; litters were prepared. He thought only of Ilia. He wanted to wrap himself in the dreaming-veil and to lie on the temple-roof and dream where Ilia was, where she had been carried ... by the pirates. And he stood like a priest, gazing solemnly before him.

Cora’s song rang through the falling night. Her clear voice, tinkling as though with little golden bells, at first soft and hushed, rose throbbing in passion and then broke like a crystal ray and melted in mournfulness and plaintive prayer.

The shadows lay heaped under the palm-trees. Outside the doors of their apartments, in the galleries of the diversorium, sat the travelling merchants, squatting or lying on mat or rug, listening. Uncle Catullus lay in a hammock and Thrasyllus sat beside him and looked up at the stars, which were beginning to show like silver daisies in wide, blue meadows.

“You have sung beautifully, Cora,” said Uncle Catullus to the slave, who was sitting on the ground with the four-stringed harp before her.

“Thank you, my lord,” said the slave.

“Why not call me uncle?” said Catullus, good-naturedly.

“I should not dare,” said Cora, smiling.

“Ilia used to call me uncle.”

“I am not Ilia, my lord.”

Tarrar appeared in the pillared portico.

But his appearance was a surprise. For Tarrar, no longer bandaged, looked like a little savage: he wore his Libyan festive garment; a girdle of feathers hung round his waist; he was crowned with a head-dress of feathers. And he stood grinning.

“Great gods, Tarrar!” cried Uncle Catullus, with a start. “What have you done to yourself? You look like a little cannibal! You frighten me! What’s happening?”

“We are going to Canopus, my lord, to-night!” cried Tarrar, jubilantly. “My Lord Lucius lets you know that we are all going to Canopus this very night! Here is his lordship himself!”

And Tarrar pointed triumphantly to Lucius, who appeared upon the threshold. Cora had risen and now curtseyed low to the ground, with outstretched arms.

Lucius looked like a young Egyptian god. He wore an Egyptian robe of striped byssus, with a border of hieroglyphics worked in heavy embroidery and precious stones; his legs were encased in hose of gold tissue; about his head was an Egyptian coif, likethat of a sphinx, with broad, projecting, striped bands, which fell to his shoulders; he glittered with strange jewels and was wrapped from head to foot in fine gold net like a transparent cloak, like an immaterial shroud. And he approached with a smile, brilliantly, superhumanly beautiful.

“Great sacred gods! Great sacred gods!” exclaimed Uncle Catullus.

He rose; Thrasyllus rose too; and the merchants gathered round and, in salaam upon salaam, showed their admiration for the dazzling stranger.

“Lucius, what possesses you? What is happening? Have you turned into Serapis himself?”

“No, uncle,” smiled Lucius, “I am merely clad in ceremonial raiment because I want to go to Canopus and dream on the roof of the temple of Serapis. It is the great feast; and Caleb”—he pointed to Caleb stepping forward—“has persuaded me to go this night in state to Canopus. You are coming too, uncle; you also, Thrasyllus; we shall all go, all my freedmen and slaves. Caleb will see about a boat.”

A violent and feverish excitement followed. Slaves, male and female, streamedfrom every side of the diversorium, rejoicing and clasping their hands in amazement.

“When any princely noble, such as his lordship,” Caleb explained, “goes to Canopus, to the feast of Serapis thrice holy, he goes in the greatest state, with all his household to accompany him.”

“So I am going too, as I belong to the household?” exclaimed Uncle Catullus. “Only ... am I to rig myself out like that? And where shall I find such a sumptuous raiment?”

“My lord,” said Caleb, “you will find everything ready in your chamber. You too, Master Thrasyllus.”

Uncle Catullus hurried away, clasping his fat stomach in his two hands. You never knew where you were with that Lucius! For days and days he had been mourning and sobbing and lamenting; he had remained invisible and had eaten nothing ... and there, there he appeared, decked out like a young god, and wanted to go to Canopus, to dream on the roof of the temple!

“And I had just been reckoning on a quiet evening, because I feel that I’ve overloaded my stomach!” moaned Uncle Catullus. “Egypt will be the death of me!”

Lights everywhere, links and torches; fever and gaiety everywhere, because one and all were going to Canopus that night. What a surprise! Their lord was no longer sick! It was the great feast! It was the feast of Serapis! The feast of dreams! The water-festival and the boat-festival! It was the summer festival of Canopus!

Vettius and Rufus, the two stewards, gave orders here, there and everywhere. One and all, they said, were to deck themselves in festive garb. Ione, the old female slave, who had charge of the harpists and dancers, was given leave to buy from the merchants whatever she needed, veils and ornaments.

“We are going to Canopus, we are going to Canopus!” cried the women, in joyful chorus. “Quick, Ione, hand me the poppy-rouge! Here, a stick of antimony! I want a blue veil, Ione, and blue lotus-flowers for my hair! Quick, quick, Ione! The master is ready!”

“We are going to Canopus, we are going to Canopus!” Cora cried, joyfully, with the rest. “My lord was like a young god, he looked like Serapis himself! Ione, I must have a net of gold thread and a dreaming-veil of gold thread and pink water-lilies formy hair! I want a wreath of pink water-lilies!”

Lucius from afar beheld this stir, in the reflection of the lamps and torches in the night. Slaves were running to and fro; litters were prepared. He thought only of Ilia. He wanted to wrap himself in the dreaming-veil and to lie on the temple-roof and dream where Ilia was, where she had been carried ... by the pirates. And he stood like a priest, gazing solemnly before him.

Chapter VIIIDuring those evenings of the summer festival, Alexandria was lighted more brilliantly than Rome itself. The town glittered with hundreds of lights, lamps, lanterns, torches and links; it glittered in its harbours, where the blinding sheaves of light floated from the dome of the light-house; it glittered in its two main streets, which intersected each other; it glittered in the colonnades of the Museum and the Gymnasium, colonnades and stadia themselves restlessly teeming, up to where the multitude were making merry for the festival.But above all it glittered over Lake Mareotis and the Canopus Canal. The splendid villas on the lake were bright with many-coloured lanterns and balls of fire; the temple of Aphrodite, on the eyot, was silhouetted in flaring lines; and over the golden waters of the lake itself the illuminated boats pressed and crowded, filled with song, filled with dance, full of colour, gladness and joy; streamers flapped and rugs trailed overthe sides of the boats down to the water.Through the lighted streets the bearers hurried and thronged with the litters towards Lake Mareotis. They hurried from the diversorium, with the harpists and the dancing-girls and a great procession of slaves in festive raiment. An army of freedmen followed on horses and mules; and the passers-by pointed to the imposing procession, evidently the household of a very wealthy Roman who was going to Canopus to dream.The procession reached a landing-stage on the lake. Here a great barge lay moored, a thalamegus which Caleb had succeeded in hiring at the last moment for a vast sum of money. The thalamegus was painted blue and gilded, with blue-and-gilt oars, which stuck out like so many swan’s-legs. Caleb had had her covered with tapestry and adorned with wreaths of flowers and festoons of leaves. The silver statue of Aphrodite stood on the prow, with incense burning before it. The troop of slaves, male and female, and freedmen, with Vettius and Rufus, hastened on board to await the master’s coming.A dense multitude pressed round to look on greedily. Now a Roman litter approached,recognizable by its square shape; yet another and the master alighted, with the aid of his slaves, male and female. He was accompanied by an old, corpulent kinsman and a grave tutor.“He’s going dreaming! He’s going dreaming!” cried the populace. “See, he has his dreaming-veil on! He looks like Serapis himself!”Beggars crowded round the travellers:“Divine lord and exalted prince! Image of Horus, the son of Osiris! May Serapis send you good dreams! May Serapis load you with blessings! May he keep bad dreams locked far from you, in the shadowy underworld!”The stewards distributed money among the beggars. Lucius had gone on board. The slave-girls scattered flowers before his feet as he walked.The song of the rowers was heard from the body of the boat. The creaking ropes were cast off; the barge glided towards the middle of the lake. She gleamed with blue, green and yellow lights and left a trail of brightness in her wake; the water was bright around her. On the banks the villas and palaces of light stood in gardens of light.Hundreds of other barges were gliding slowly in the same direction. Above the monotonous drone of the rowers’ song rang ballads and hymns. The music of citharas was heard in descending chords; the harps rang out; the notes of double flutes quavered through the evening air with a magic intoxication of melody.The waters of the lake stood high. It was the month when the kindly Nile stepped outside its banks with a moist foot and overflowed the Delta. The golden waters of the lake lapped higher than the marble steps of the villas down which the brilliant hetairæ descended, holding the lappets of their veils, to take their seats on the cushions of their barges.Flowers fell on the water, in unison with the notes of hymn and song. All the craft, hundreds and hundreds, large and small, barges and coracles, square rafts and canoes, pressed gently forward towards the entrance of the Canopian Canal. On the banks were thousands of idlers and spectators, all the people of Alexandria.The vessels glided to the harmony of the twanged strings into the broad canal. It was very full of water; the banks wereflooded. Reeds tall as a man, biblos and cyamos, rose like pillars, blossoming during this month with thousands of waving plumes: the leaves of the biblos were long and bending over, as though each were languidly broken; those of the cyamos were round as scales and goblet-deep, stacked one above the other along the stems, like cups.1In the light on the barges, golden patches glowed among the stalks; and the reeds and rushes blossomed up as though out of molten gold.Here lay the Canopian harbour, here the suburb of Eleusis; and the canal split into two branches. The narrower channel led to Schedia, on the Nile; the broader led past Nicopolis to Canopus.Beyond stretched the sea, wide and blue. Only a narrow strip of land separated it from the canal; and it lay boundless under a thousand twinkling stars.“Lucius,” said Thrasyllus, sitting spell-bound at the feet of the young Roman, who sat on a raised throne and gazed in front of him like a priest, full of longing for his dream of that night, “Lucius, my Lord Catullus,look! We have passed Nicopolis, with its amphitheatre and stadium; and yonder lies Taposiris, with Cape Zephyrium; and on a height I can see the temple of Aphrodite Arsinoe.”“I see,” said Lucius, turning his eyes towards the temple, which was lit with lines of fire and rose above the water like a mansion in Olympus.“I see,” echoed Uncle Catullus, seated by Lucius’ side.“I was reading,” Thrasyllus explained, “that at the same place where that temple now stands there once stood the city of Thonis, named after the king who hospitably entreated Menelaus and Helen. Homer mentions it and speaks of the secret herbs and precious balsams which Helen received from Queen Polydamna, Thonis’ spouse.”“You know everything, Thrasyllus,” said Uncle Catullus, warmly, “and it is a joy to travel with you.”“Tell the slave from Cos to sing the Hymn to Aphrodite as we row past the goddess’ temple,” said Lucius.Thrasyllus went to Cora and communicated the master’s order. Forthwith a group of singers and dancers rose to their feet.Cora herself struck the resounding chords. And she sang:“Mother of Eros, hear thy slave!“Child of the foam, great goddess of love,Aphrodite, look down from above!Thou, who dost madden the gods with desire,Thou, who fulfillest men’s hearts with thy fire,All but the heart of my lord that I crave,Hark tothyslave!”She stood as one inspired while she sang, with her fingers on the chords, facing the temple. Around her the girls danced to the song. The movements of their lithe bodies, light as the ripple of a silken scarf in the breeze, met and dissolved in picture after picture with each word of the song. The singer’s voice swelled crystal-clear. From the bank of the canal, from the open houses, on the temple-steps the people listened to her song. In the tall reeds lay smaller boats, wherein a man and woman embraced in love. Their hands thrust aside the yielding stems; and their smiles glanced at Cora.“All but the heart of my lord that I crave,Hark to thy slave!”the other singers now sang after her.“She sings well,” said Lucius.Cora heard him. She blushed crimson between the great rose-coloured flowers at her temples. But she behaved as though she had heard nothing. And she sat down quietly among her companions, at the foot of the silver statue of Aphrodite.The barge glided on slowly with the others. From all of them, in turns, came music. The water of the flooding canal was like a broad golden mirror. On the bank, between the stalks of the tall reeds, the open taverns and brothels rose, wreathed in flowers, as from an enchanted lake. The women in them beckoned and waved with long lotus-stems.But the barges glided on, towards Canopus. They were all going to the temple of Serapis. Not until after the dreams would the brothels and taverns be visited. The orgy was to come after the dream.1These cyamos-leaves were actually used for kitchen-utensils by the people of Alexandria; and their sale provided a regular livelihood.

Chapter VIII

During those evenings of the summer festival, Alexandria was lighted more brilliantly than Rome itself. The town glittered with hundreds of lights, lamps, lanterns, torches and links; it glittered in its harbours, where the blinding sheaves of light floated from the dome of the light-house; it glittered in its two main streets, which intersected each other; it glittered in the colonnades of the Museum and the Gymnasium, colonnades and stadia themselves restlessly teeming, up to where the multitude were making merry for the festival.But above all it glittered over Lake Mareotis and the Canopus Canal. The splendid villas on the lake were bright with many-coloured lanterns and balls of fire; the temple of Aphrodite, on the eyot, was silhouetted in flaring lines; and over the golden waters of the lake itself the illuminated boats pressed and crowded, filled with song, filled with dance, full of colour, gladness and joy; streamers flapped and rugs trailed overthe sides of the boats down to the water.Through the lighted streets the bearers hurried and thronged with the litters towards Lake Mareotis. They hurried from the diversorium, with the harpists and the dancing-girls and a great procession of slaves in festive raiment. An army of freedmen followed on horses and mules; and the passers-by pointed to the imposing procession, evidently the household of a very wealthy Roman who was going to Canopus to dream.The procession reached a landing-stage on the lake. Here a great barge lay moored, a thalamegus which Caleb had succeeded in hiring at the last moment for a vast sum of money. The thalamegus was painted blue and gilded, with blue-and-gilt oars, which stuck out like so many swan’s-legs. Caleb had had her covered with tapestry and adorned with wreaths of flowers and festoons of leaves. The silver statue of Aphrodite stood on the prow, with incense burning before it. The troop of slaves, male and female, and freedmen, with Vettius and Rufus, hastened on board to await the master’s coming.A dense multitude pressed round to look on greedily. Now a Roman litter approached,recognizable by its square shape; yet another and the master alighted, with the aid of his slaves, male and female. He was accompanied by an old, corpulent kinsman and a grave tutor.“He’s going dreaming! He’s going dreaming!” cried the populace. “See, he has his dreaming-veil on! He looks like Serapis himself!”Beggars crowded round the travellers:“Divine lord and exalted prince! Image of Horus, the son of Osiris! May Serapis send you good dreams! May Serapis load you with blessings! May he keep bad dreams locked far from you, in the shadowy underworld!”The stewards distributed money among the beggars. Lucius had gone on board. The slave-girls scattered flowers before his feet as he walked.The song of the rowers was heard from the body of the boat. The creaking ropes were cast off; the barge glided towards the middle of the lake. She gleamed with blue, green and yellow lights and left a trail of brightness in her wake; the water was bright around her. On the banks the villas and palaces of light stood in gardens of light.Hundreds of other barges were gliding slowly in the same direction. Above the monotonous drone of the rowers’ song rang ballads and hymns. The music of citharas was heard in descending chords; the harps rang out; the notes of double flutes quavered through the evening air with a magic intoxication of melody.The waters of the lake stood high. It was the month when the kindly Nile stepped outside its banks with a moist foot and overflowed the Delta. The golden waters of the lake lapped higher than the marble steps of the villas down which the brilliant hetairæ descended, holding the lappets of their veils, to take their seats on the cushions of their barges.Flowers fell on the water, in unison with the notes of hymn and song. All the craft, hundreds and hundreds, large and small, barges and coracles, square rafts and canoes, pressed gently forward towards the entrance of the Canopian Canal. On the banks were thousands of idlers and spectators, all the people of Alexandria.The vessels glided to the harmony of the twanged strings into the broad canal. It was very full of water; the banks wereflooded. Reeds tall as a man, biblos and cyamos, rose like pillars, blossoming during this month with thousands of waving plumes: the leaves of the biblos were long and bending over, as though each were languidly broken; those of the cyamos were round as scales and goblet-deep, stacked one above the other along the stems, like cups.1In the light on the barges, golden patches glowed among the stalks; and the reeds and rushes blossomed up as though out of molten gold.Here lay the Canopian harbour, here the suburb of Eleusis; and the canal split into two branches. The narrower channel led to Schedia, on the Nile; the broader led past Nicopolis to Canopus.Beyond stretched the sea, wide and blue. Only a narrow strip of land separated it from the canal; and it lay boundless under a thousand twinkling stars.“Lucius,” said Thrasyllus, sitting spell-bound at the feet of the young Roman, who sat on a raised throne and gazed in front of him like a priest, full of longing for his dream of that night, “Lucius, my Lord Catullus,look! We have passed Nicopolis, with its amphitheatre and stadium; and yonder lies Taposiris, with Cape Zephyrium; and on a height I can see the temple of Aphrodite Arsinoe.”“I see,” said Lucius, turning his eyes towards the temple, which was lit with lines of fire and rose above the water like a mansion in Olympus.“I see,” echoed Uncle Catullus, seated by Lucius’ side.“I was reading,” Thrasyllus explained, “that at the same place where that temple now stands there once stood the city of Thonis, named after the king who hospitably entreated Menelaus and Helen. Homer mentions it and speaks of the secret herbs and precious balsams which Helen received from Queen Polydamna, Thonis’ spouse.”“You know everything, Thrasyllus,” said Uncle Catullus, warmly, “and it is a joy to travel with you.”“Tell the slave from Cos to sing the Hymn to Aphrodite as we row past the goddess’ temple,” said Lucius.Thrasyllus went to Cora and communicated the master’s order. Forthwith a group of singers and dancers rose to their feet.Cora herself struck the resounding chords. And she sang:“Mother of Eros, hear thy slave!“Child of the foam, great goddess of love,Aphrodite, look down from above!Thou, who dost madden the gods with desire,Thou, who fulfillest men’s hearts with thy fire,All but the heart of my lord that I crave,Hark tothyslave!”She stood as one inspired while she sang, with her fingers on the chords, facing the temple. Around her the girls danced to the song. The movements of their lithe bodies, light as the ripple of a silken scarf in the breeze, met and dissolved in picture after picture with each word of the song. The singer’s voice swelled crystal-clear. From the bank of the canal, from the open houses, on the temple-steps the people listened to her song. In the tall reeds lay smaller boats, wherein a man and woman embraced in love. Their hands thrust aside the yielding stems; and their smiles glanced at Cora.“All but the heart of my lord that I crave,Hark to thy slave!”the other singers now sang after her.“She sings well,” said Lucius.Cora heard him. She blushed crimson between the great rose-coloured flowers at her temples. But she behaved as though she had heard nothing. And she sat down quietly among her companions, at the foot of the silver statue of Aphrodite.The barge glided on slowly with the others. From all of them, in turns, came music. The water of the flooding canal was like a broad golden mirror. On the bank, between the stalks of the tall reeds, the open taverns and brothels rose, wreathed in flowers, as from an enchanted lake. The women in them beckoned and waved with long lotus-stems.But the barges glided on, towards Canopus. They were all going to the temple of Serapis. Not until after the dreams would the brothels and taverns be visited. The orgy was to come after the dream.

During those evenings of the summer festival, Alexandria was lighted more brilliantly than Rome itself. The town glittered with hundreds of lights, lamps, lanterns, torches and links; it glittered in its harbours, where the blinding sheaves of light floated from the dome of the light-house; it glittered in its two main streets, which intersected each other; it glittered in the colonnades of the Museum and the Gymnasium, colonnades and stadia themselves restlessly teeming, up to where the multitude were making merry for the festival.

But above all it glittered over Lake Mareotis and the Canopus Canal. The splendid villas on the lake were bright with many-coloured lanterns and balls of fire; the temple of Aphrodite, on the eyot, was silhouetted in flaring lines; and over the golden waters of the lake itself the illuminated boats pressed and crowded, filled with song, filled with dance, full of colour, gladness and joy; streamers flapped and rugs trailed overthe sides of the boats down to the water.

Through the lighted streets the bearers hurried and thronged with the litters towards Lake Mareotis. They hurried from the diversorium, with the harpists and the dancing-girls and a great procession of slaves in festive raiment. An army of freedmen followed on horses and mules; and the passers-by pointed to the imposing procession, evidently the household of a very wealthy Roman who was going to Canopus to dream.

The procession reached a landing-stage on the lake. Here a great barge lay moored, a thalamegus which Caleb had succeeded in hiring at the last moment for a vast sum of money. The thalamegus was painted blue and gilded, with blue-and-gilt oars, which stuck out like so many swan’s-legs. Caleb had had her covered with tapestry and adorned with wreaths of flowers and festoons of leaves. The silver statue of Aphrodite stood on the prow, with incense burning before it. The troop of slaves, male and female, and freedmen, with Vettius and Rufus, hastened on board to await the master’s coming.

A dense multitude pressed round to look on greedily. Now a Roman litter approached,recognizable by its square shape; yet another and the master alighted, with the aid of his slaves, male and female. He was accompanied by an old, corpulent kinsman and a grave tutor.

“He’s going dreaming! He’s going dreaming!” cried the populace. “See, he has his dreaming-veil on! He looks like Serapis himself!”

Beggars crowded round the travellers:

“Divine lord and exalted prince! Image of Horus, the son of Osiris! May Serapis send you good dreams! May Serapis load you with blessings! May he keep bad dreams locked far from you, in the shadowy underworld!”

The stewards distributed money among the beggars. Lucius had gone on board. The slave-girls scattered flowers before his feet as he walked.

The song of the rowers was heard from the body of the boat. The creaking ropes were cast off; the barge glided towards the middle of the lake. She gleamed with blue, green and yellow lights and left a trail of brightness in her wake; the water was bright around her. On the banks the villas and palaces of light stood in gardens of light.

Hundreds of other barges were gliding slowly in the same direction. Above the monotonous drone of the rowers’ song rang ballads and hymns. The music of citharas was heard in descending chords; the harps rang out; the notes of double flutes quavered through the evening air with a magic intoxication of melody.

The waters of the lake stood high. It was the month when the kindly Nile stepped outside its banks with a moist foot and overflowed the Delta. The golden waters of the lake lapped higher than the marble steps of the villas down which the brilliant hetairæ descended, holding the lappets of their veils, to take their seats on the cushions of their barges.

Flowers fell on the water, in unison with the notes of hymn and song. All the craft, hundreds and hundreds, large and small, barges and coracles, square rafts and canoes, pressed gently forward towards the entrance of the Canopian Canal. On the banks were thousands of idlers and spectators, all the people of Alexandria.

The vessels glided to the harmony of the twanged strings into the broad canal. It was very full of water; the banks wereflooded. Reeds tall as a man, biblos and cyamos, rose like pillars, blossoming during this month with thousands of waving plumes: the leaves of the biblos were long and bending over, as though each were languidly broken; those of the cyamos were round as scales and goblet-deep, stacked one above the other along the stems, like cups.1In the light on the barges, golden patches glowed among the stalks; and the reeds and rushes blossomed up as though out of molten gold.

Here lay the Canopian harbour, here the suburb of Eleusis; and the canal split into two branches. The narrower channel led to Schedia, on the Nile; the broader led past Nicopolis to Canopus.

Beyond stretched the sea, wide and blue. Only a narrow strip of land separated it from the canal; and it lay boundless under a thousand twinkling stars.

“Lucius,” said Thrasyllus, sitting spell-bound at the feet of the young Roman, who sat on a raised throne and gazed in front of him like a priest, full of longing for his dream of that night, “Lucius, my Lord Catullus,look! We have passed Nicopolis, with its amphitheatre and stadium; and yonder lies Taposiris, with Cape Zephyrium; and on a height I can see the temple of Aphrodite Arsinoe.”

“I see,” said Lucius, turning his eyes towards the temple, which was lit with lines of fire and rose above the water like a mansion in Olympus.

“I see,” echoed Uncle Catullus, seated by Lucius’ side.

“I was reading,” Thrasyllus explained, “that at the same place where that temple now stands there once stood the city of Thonis, named after the king who hospitably entreated Menelaus and Helen. Homer mentions it and speaks of the secret herbs and precious balsams which Helen received from Queen Polydamna, Thonis’ spouse.”

“You know everything, Thrasyllus,” said Uncle Catullus, warmly, “and it is a joy to travel with you.”

“Tell the slave from Cos to sing the Hymn to Aphrodite as we row past the goddess’ temple,” said Lucius.

Thrasyllus went to Cora and communicated the master’s order. Forthwith a group of singers and dancers rose to their feet.Cora herself struck the resounding chords. And she sang:

“Mother of Eros, hear thy slave!“Child of the foam, great goddess of love,Aphrodite, look down from above!Thou, who dost madden the gods with desire,Thou, who fulfillest men’s hearts with thy fire,All but the heart of my lord that I crave,Hark tothyslave!”

“Mother of Eros, hear thy slave!

“Mother of Eros, hear thy slave!

“Child of the foam, great goddess of love,Aphrodite, look down from above!Thou, who dost madden the gods with desire,Thou, who fulfillest men’s hearts with thy fire,All but the heart of my lord that I crave,Hark tothyslave!”

“Child of the foam, great goddess of love,

Aphrodite, look down from above!

Thou, who dost madden the gods with desire,

Thou, who fulfillest men’s hearts with thy fire,

All but the heart of my lord that I crave,

Hark tothyslave!”

She stood as one inspired while she sang, with her fingers on the chords, facing the temple. Around her the girls danced to the song. The movements of their lithe bodies, light as the ripple of a silken scarf in the breeze, met and dissolved in picture after picture with each word of the song. The singer’s voice swelled crystal-clear. From the bank of the canal, from the open houses, on the temple-steps the people listened to her song. In the tall reeds lay smaller boats, wherein a man and woman embraced in love. Their hands thrust aside the yielding stems; and their smiles glanced at Cora.

“All but the heart of my lord that I crave,Hark to thy slave!”

“All but the heart of my lord that I crave,

Hark to thy slave!”

the other singers now sang after her.

“She sings well,” said Lucius.

Cora heard him. She blushed crimson between the great rose-coloured flowers at her temples. But she behaved as though she had heard nothing. And she sat down quietly among her companions, at the foot of the silver statue of Aphrodite.

The barge glided on slowly with the others. From all of them, in turns, came music. The water of the flooding canal was like a broad golden mirror. On the bank, between the stalks of the tall reeds, the open taverns and brothels rose, wreathed in flowers, as from an enchanted lake. The women in them beckoned and waved with long lotus-stems.

But the barges glided on, towards Canopus. They were all going to the temple of Serapis. Not until after the dreams would the brothels and taverns be visited. The orgy was to come after the dream.

1These cyamos-leaves were actually used for kitchen-utensils by the people of Alexandria; and their sale provided a regular livelihood.

1These cyamos-leaves were actually used for kitchen-utensils by the people of Alexandria; and their sale provided a regular livelihood.

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