Next morning, the soft, even light of a tea-rose dawn
spread over a magic spectacle, beautiful as a marvellous dream, flimsy
as a vision, compelling as an enchantment. The ship had glided past the
monumental, marble, nine-storeyed Pharos into the Great Harbour; and
Alexandria lay before the eyes of the delighted travellers, Lucius,
Thrasyllus, Catullus, shining pink through diaphanous,
mother-o’-pearl gleams and a slowly-lifting silvery mist, like a
city of magic and fairy-tale. A long, long row of white palaces, with
irregular gables, loomed through the mist and the gleam.
On the left, on the rocks of Lochias, the pillars of the former
royal palace shone magical and fairylike in the silvery mist.
Thrasyllus knew that, since Egypt had become a Roman province, the
legate resided there, surrounded with royal honours. Under the palace
the little square basin of the palace-harbour showed, gay with the
purple sails of the legate’s triremes; with the little island of
Antirrhodos, behind which [19]pillars and yet more pillars outlined
more and more clearly the white theatre; with the bight of the
Posidium, where stood the Temple of Poseidon and the great Emporium,
the great market of the merchant shippers, while a pier ran into the
harbour on which, dainty as a marble ornament, stood the villa of the
Timoneum, built by Mark Antony. A riot of luxuriant green gardens, with
the stately crowns of palm-trees and the dreamy-delicate crests of
tamarisks, flung cool, dark nosegays between all those gleaming white
buildings, which began to blink in the ever fiercer sunshine....
Thrasyllus pointed with his finger, along the harbour, the long row
of palaces of the Cæsareum, the huge docks and yards teeming all
motley with people and industry, to the Heptastadium, the
promenade-jetty which stretched out to unite the city with the island
of Pharos, whence the light-house took its name. On the one side of
this pier, with rostra and statues on the marble balustrade and gates,
lay the harbour of Eunostus and the naval docks of Cibotus.
The water on every side was crowded and swarming with vessels:
biremes and triremes, battle-ships and merchant-ships; the [20]masts
rose like a forest of poplars and the sails glowed like the
many-coloured wings of one bird against another; and, as soon as the
quadrireme glided in, she was surrounded by a host of sloops, filled
with traders, with yelling Arabs and Nubians. The Aphrodite
heaved to; a pilot came on board; then she glided on again through the
press of the sloops, the yelling of the traders and with swanlike
elegance turned and lay to beside the great quay, at the place where
she was expected, the place kept open for her.
The quay, between the obelisks, was alive with a maddening concourse
of people: sailors and merchants, vendors of fruit and water and
vegetables, chattering women, screaming children, Ethiopian beggars,
Greek students, priests of Serapis and Isis, Roman soldiers; and all
pointed at the ship and streamed in unison to gaze at her in wide-eyed
and open-mouthed admiration. For, though numbers of vessels entered the
Great Harbour of Alexandria daily, it was not every day that the quay
was visited by so impressive a quadrireme as this; and the beautiful
ship aroused curiosity.
The three travellers stood on the prow, [21]beside
the silver figure of Aphrodite, and Catullus said, in an appreciative
tone:
“It’s not half bad. Just look at that row of palaces! It
is as though Alexandria were one great palace, opening on its harbour!
And what people, white, dark and black, all mixed! And what a noise
they make, what a noise! We are much calmer in Italy!... Do look,
Lucius, at all those ibises walking about on the quay, quiet and tame,
pecking here and there, upon my word as though they were at home! Do
you see the ibises, Thrasyllus? I thought that they just stood and
dreamed on one leg, beside the Nile, like poetic birds ... and, the
moment I arrive, I see great flocks of them actually walking on the
quay of Alexandria’s harbour! White ibises, black ibises, piebald
ibises! What a crowd of ibises! What a crowd of them! And so dignified,
much more dignified than the people! Ye gods, what a noisy crew the
Alexandrians are!”
The gangway was slung from the ship to the quay; and the master was
receiving the port-authorities, to whom he had to show his papers, when
two men came hurrying across the gangway, which was hedged in by a
guard of sailors to protect it against any [22]intrusion of the gaping populace. One of them was
an obvious Latin, the other a dark-skinned Sabæan.
“Well, Vettius!” said Lucius, welcoming the Latin, who
was his steward. “I am glad to see you again and I hope that your
voyage was as prosperous as ours!”
Vettius the steward bowed low before his young master, bowed
ceremoniously before fat Uncle Catullus. He had travelled ahead of his
master to seek suitable lodgings at Alexandria and he seemed very well
pleased with what he had found, for he pointed joyfully to the
dark-skinned Sabæan, who had kept behind and now bobbed down with
many salaams and respectful assurances, uttered in a language that
fluctuated between Latin, Greek, Phœnician and Arabic.
“This is Master Ghizla, a native of Saba, my lord,” said
Vettius, presenting him, “the owner of the largest guest-house in
Alexandria; and he has at your disposal a row of three suites, standing
in their own gardens, with spacious annexes, near the guest-house
proper; and I am convinced that, when we have put in our own furniture,
they will afford a fit residence for you and the honourable Catullus.
Of course, when travelling, all [23]conveniences are but temporary
and not to be compared with your insula at Rome or your villa at
Baiæ, now the property of our gracious Emperor
Tiberius.”
“It is well, it is well, Vettius,” said Lucius.
“We shall not be too hard to please. Are there baths attached to
them?”
“There are most comfortable baths attached to them, my
lord,” declared Master Ghizla, bobbing down twice and thrice in
salaams. “And there are taps with very cold water and taps with
very hot water. They are suites which I let only to princely nobles
like your lordship; and I have had the honour of lodging in them the
Persian Prince Kardusi, whom you surely know, and Baabab, Satrap of
Mesopotamia, whom you also surely know, my lords, as princely
nobles.”
“Certainly, certainly,” replied Lucius, trying to jest.
“Kardusi and Baabab, I know them well.”
“We are even related to them and call them by their
names,” Uncle Catullus broke in, airily, with a bow and puffing
out his stomach. “But there is something that I want to
ask you, Master Ghizla, something that neither his lordship nor Master
Vettius will care so much about: are there kitchens [24]to the
suites, kitchens where our trusty cook can prepare us this or that
simple fare?”
“There are most comfortable kitchens to these princely suites,
my lord,” Master Ghizla assured him. “His Highness the
Satrap Baabab often gave very sumptuous banquets and would invite his
excellency the legate to his table every other day; and near the
kitchens there is a well of water clear as crystal.”
“I don’t drink much water,” said Uncle
Catullus.
“We have old Mareotis wine in our cellars, my lord, wine thick
as ink, dark-purple as molten princely sealing-wax and fragrant as the
own lotus of our Lady Isis, blessed be her name! We have also the
rose-coloured date-wine of Meroe and the fine topaz-yellow liqueur of
Napata: we have all the Ethiopian liqueurs....”
“That’s better than water,” said Uncle Catullus,
smacking his lips. “What say you, my dear Lucius?”
Lucius had made a great effort that morning to control his grief;
together with his uncle and the tutor, he had stared with interest at
the splendid panorama that unrolled itself before their eyes as they
entered the [25]Great Harbour; he had welcomed his steward Vettius
with a kind word; he had interested himself in the apartments which he
was to occupy. Now, however, tired and listless, he had sunk into a
seat, beside the silver image of the goddess, and sat looking
disconsolately in front of him. He was a tall, comely fellow, with an
athletic frame developed by wrestling exercise; and his dark eyes,
though now veiled with melancholy and longing, gleamed with a deep
spark of intelligence. Immensely rich, the sole heir of various
relatives who had died childless, he had joined for but a short time in
the mad orgies of the young Romans of his own rank and had soon devoted
himself to many branches of science, to astronomy in particular,
philosophy, magic, the favourite passion of that period; he amused
himself with modelling and sculpture; as a collector, he loved
everything that was beautiful: pictures and statues, old coins and old
glass; and his Etruscan antiquities were famous all over Rome.
Certainly, he had always desired to see Egypt, to travel through Egypt;
and the sight of the marble palaces of Alexandria had already charmed
him for a moment. But his grief and longing [26]returned
to him immediately after; red anger awoke in him once more and impotent
fury that Ilia, his best-beloved slave, had vanished, one inauspicious
morning, from his villa at Baiæ, without leaving a trace behind
her.
“Come, Lucius,” said Catullus, “we’re going
on shore now, my dear fellow. There are our litters waiting for us,
prepared by Master Ghizla’s care....”
“With excellent, powerful Libyan bearers, my lord, bearers
whom I reserve exclusively for princely nobles like you....”
“And, if you care first to take a turn through the city,
sir,” Vettius proffered, “I will see to it that the
furniture and baggage are conveyed from the ships to your apartments,
so that you will find everything arranged in time for
luncheon.”
Although Lucius of course travelled with his own litters and his own
bearers, Ghizla and Vettius had judged that two Alexandrian litters,
with twelve Libyan bearers, would serve his purpose better at
Alexandria, especially because here they were accustomed to move
quicker, at a trot, than in Rome, where the pace was statelier and
slower. Master Ghizla, therefore, who would not fail to charge the
litters and bearers in [27]his bill at double the price and more, had
quickly and slyly set out his litters in front of the gangway, before
Rufus, the under-steward, had even thought of preparing his
master’s own litter.
“Very well, Vettius,” said Lucius, making an effort and
rising. “I see two litters: those are for Uncle Catullus and me.
And how is our good Thrasyllus to accompany us? For he knows the city
already from the writings of Eratosthenes and Strabo; he can tell us
much that is interesting on the way; and the tour would not afford us
half the same pleasure without him.”
“I have had a good donkey saddled for Master
Thrasyllus,” said Master Ghizla, with a salaam.
In fact, an ass, held by a boy on a leading-rein, stood waiting
behind the litters, among the open-mouthed populace.
“And if,” the Sabæan hinted, suavely, “if I
might entrust the noble lords to the conduct of my younger brother
Caleb, he will go in front of the noble lords and act as a guide with
whom they will doubtless be no less satisfied than were the Prince of
Persia and the Satrap of Mesopotamia....”
“Kardusi and Baabab,” Uncle Catullus [28]completed, mischievously. “Two pleasant,
simple fellows: I’m sorry they’re gone.”
But Ghizla pointed to Caleb, who now came up with a flourish of
salaams and bowed. As against Ghizla, who was tall, lean and dignified,
Caleb, the younger man, was vivacious and sparkling, with dark eyes,
flashing teeth and a gay, smiling mouth. He wore wide striped trousers
of many colours, a white burnous, a red turban and large rings in his
ears; and he spoke better Latin than his brother, with now and then a
few sentences of Greek.
Lucius accepted Caleb as his guide; and they went on shore; and
Lucius and Uncle Catullus took their seats in their litters. Thrasyllus
mounted his quiet donkey; but Caleb flung himself with a swagger on to
a jet-black, gaily-caparisoned Sabæan mare, who neighed when she
felt the red heels of Caleb’s sandals in her flanks. So the
procession started: first three ebon-black outrunners, with whips which
they cracked right and left to make room, to drive barking dogs away
and to keep beggars at a distance; then Caleb, proudly sitting his
horse like a young conqueror, always smiling and sparkling with black
eyes and white teeth; then the two [29]litters, with Thrasyllus at the
side on his donkey; and round the three travellers a number of guards,
armed with whips and sticks.
They pressed through the crowd along the quay, where everybody
looked and pointed at the distinguished foreigners; they went at a
quick trot, for the outrunners went at a trot, cracking their whips;
Caleb, on his Sabæan mare, showed off his equestrian powers and
pranced elegantly along upon his steed; the litter-bearers followed at
a short, steady quick-trot; even Thrasyllus’ donkey, as sober as
a philosopher, trotted blithely on; and behind trotted the guards,
shaking their sticks and flourishing their long whips. They trotted
along the middle of the broad street, over the great stone flags; and
it seemed as though everything were trotting in a quick rhythm,
including all the other litters, the carts and horsemen, who with their
outrunners and outriders also strove to make their way through the
bustle.
So the cavalcade trotted on; and the street-boys scattered and the
ibises scattered with outstretched necks and wide-flapping wings.
“What crowds of ibises!” Catullus cried. [30]“Thrasyllus, isn’t it comical to see
so many ibises walking and fluttering through the streets of
Alexandria?”
“My lord,” cried Thrasyllus, from the back of his
dancing donkey, “the ibises are Alexandria’s
scavengers.”
“I dare say, but they are unclean birds themselves for all
that! And they are counted among the sacred animals!” cried Uncle
Catullus. “Whoosh! Whoosh!”
And he drove them away, with a flourish of his arm from the litter,
for the whips of the runners trotting behind circled, it is true,
around the street-boys but ever spared the sacred ibises, one of which
would sometimes stray, fluttering wildly, among the bearers.
Meanwhile Caleb continued to give a graceful equestrian performance
on his snorting mare beside Lucius’ litter:
“My lord!” cried Caleb. “Do you see the
Heptastadium? The great bridge leading to the Pharos? Do you see that
tall-masted ships are able to sail under it? It is an interesting walk
there of an evening, my lord: all the beauties of Alexandria go there;
and a great nobleman like yourself need but make his choice and any
hetaira in Alexandria [31]will fall at his feet! This is the Moon Gate,
my lord! And this is the High Street: behind it lies the Rhacotis
quarter, which is very interesting at night, my lord, most interesting
for any one like your lordship to roam through in disguise. But now we
are going through the High Street; and here, you see, is the Square,
where the High Street crosses the Museum Street and the Avenue of
Pillars.”
Lucius looked around him with enjoyment. They were still going at a
trot, a trot of mare and runners and bearers and donkey, a noisy
trotting between shouting and laughing voices and cracking whips, while
in the streets and squares the hucksters also shouted and laughed and
swore, while the street-boys cheered and screamed for an obolus and the
ibises, flapping their wings, darted away, to alight again elsewhere
and act as scavengers to Alexandria.
“It is very different from Rome in every way,” thought
Lucius. “It is the east.”
Yes, it was the east. It was Egypt, it was Alexandria. Never in the
Forum at Rome, lively and busy though it was, never in the basilicas
had Lucius beheld this ever trotting, ever hurrying tumult. It was as
[32]though every one were pressed for time and
hurrying feverishly. Processions of priests hurried; the Roman guards
even, returning from the Palace after being relieved, marched with an
accelerated step; and yet the numerous litters never struck against one
another: they all glided at the trot of their bearers, to the right, to
the left, beside one another; there was only a shouting, a din, a
cursing, a cracking of whips loud enough to rouse the dead. Here was a
quarrel, with violent gestures and shrill voices; there the noisy
gaiety of squabbling vegetable-women and bawling vendors of
water-melons; suddenly, in a rage, the women flung cabbages at the
vendors’ heads and the vendors sent melons trundling between the
women’s legs; the cabbages and melons rolled across the street
and the crowd yelled with enjoyment, while distinguished but still
trotting processions of notables in litters or on horseback made a way
for themselves. The cabbages and melons rolled in front of the feet of
Lucius’ bearers; and Caleb, rising in his stirrups with flapping
burnous and uplifted arms, hardly holding the reins in his fingers
while the mare reared on her hind-legs, poured forth a torrent of
curses over the women [33]and the hucksters ... and then turned to
Lucius with a pleased smile, as though all this tumult were the most
ordinary morning affair in the streets of Alexandria.... Yes, that was
the Egyptian character: bustle, tumult, uproar, yelling and cursing for
the least thing; quarrelling for the least thing; and then everything
just ordinary again, as though nothing had happened. All this in a
motley whirl of colours: Rome was monotonously white and colourless
beside it, Lucius thought. Here the colours glared more fiercely: the
citrons, oranges and melons lay yellow and gold over the markets; and
there were exotic fruits too, scarlet and vermilion....
They came to the painters’ quarter. Troughs of used
colouring-matter ran in gutters along the streets: there were rivulets
of indigo, there were little waterfalls of ochre. The bearers splashed
through purple and trotted on with purple-black feet. A golden whirl of
dust in the morning sun powdered over these motley colours as with
handfuls of the finest glittering sand. Tall buildings shot up their
pillars in that glitter, seemed to shimmer, to move in that shimmer of
light. [34]
Caleb now pointed to the Acropolis, standing fortress-like,
four-square and heavy, protecting and dominating the city. Next came
the Sun Gate. Outside the city-wall was a canal; along the canal ran an
avenue of tall sycamores, bringing a sudden blissful calm and coolness
and silver-green shadows. And now Caleb pointed to the famous lake,
Lake Mareotis: it lay spread out like a sea, but was divided by
isthmuses into smaller inland lakes; there were islands often bearing
some temple to Aphrodite; and along the margins of the lake rose villa
after villa, in royal pomp of marble-coloured villas, casting their
reflections into the limpid water.
“That is where the rich hetairæ live,” said Caleb,
with a wink, “hetairæ for people like your lordship: a
prince like you can take your choice.”
Tall papyrus shot up on the lake’s edge. There were
papyrus-eyots: the stalks rustled at the least breeze; and on the eyots
lived the basket-makers: there were families of basket-makers; the
children weaving baskets and hampers looked up and cried out for an
obolus. White lotus and pink water-lilies blossomed and small gilt
barges passed across the lake, with coloured awnings to [35]them.
Ibises and cranes fluttered out of the reeds.
“You must come here again in the evening, my lord,”
Caleb advised, winking eagerly. “This is the place for one like
your lordship to enjoy himself: at Rhacotis there are only the common
women and the houses where the sailors go. But many princely nobles
like to see everything at Alexandria.”
The procession trotted back through the Gate of the Sun, which made
a wide breach in the city-walls, a vaulted arch above Corinthian
pillars; and Caleb said:
“We are now coming to the Avenue of Pillars and to the
Museum.”
Here again were the bustle, the tumult, the uproar, the shouting and
cheering and cursing, the multitude, litters, horsemen, pedestrians.
The Avenue of Pillars also was swarming, mainly with students,
philosophers and loose women. The sun blazed down in the middle of the
street; there were golden patches of light and blue-purple islands of
shadow. And there was always the golden glitter of dust, as of the
finest sand whirling through the air. Here were the hair-dressers and
barbers; here were the baths, here the tailors’-shops with their
riot of colours and [36]here the glittering jewellers’-shops
and here, behind tables, stood the money-changers. There were stretches
of green garden; and behind the gardens loomed the colonnades of the
Museum. Close by were the Gymnasium and the Athletic School.
“Will your lordship visit the Museum?” asked Caleb,
still parading his horsemanship on the Sabæan mare.
Thrasyllus thought that it would be interesting to visit the Museum;
and the travellers alighted. There was a great rush to see them. Uncle
Catullus threw oboli among the street-boys, who rolled over one
another, fighting. Beggars approached, grey-bearded men like prophets
and old women like sibyls; and Lucius flung a coin here and there.
The runners and guards drew themselves up around the two litters,
the mare and the donkey; but Caleb walked in front of the travellers,
mincing elegantly on the tips of his red riding-boots and holding the
hem of his burnous in his swaying hand. It was as though he were always
dancing, whether on horseback or on foot.
“The Museum,” Caleb explained, “is, as your
lordships know, the Academy of Alexandria, [37]founded
by the beautiful Cleopatra.”
“That is not true,” Thrasyllus whispered to his young
master. “It was founded by Ptolemy the First.”
“Here philosophers and scholars in every branch of science
devote themselves to study; and they are surrounded by thousands of
disciples from all countries. But both masters and pupils are as poor
as rats and do not, all told, possess ... that!” said
Caleb, with a flip of his finger and thumb.
“The Museum has produced great scholars,” Thrasyllus
expounded, more appreciatively, “such as Euclid, Erasistratus and
Diophantus; then there were the poets Theocritus, Aratus, Callimachus;
and among critics Aristarchus; and among philosophers more than I could
name.”
“And because they are so poor, all these learned
gentry,” said Caleb, with a laugh, pointing, as they entered the
gardens of the Museum through a portico, to stately white-cloaked
figures walking to and fro, “because they are so poor, they live
on a fund provided by the State: they’re no use for anything,
these learned gentry; but they are certainly clever, my lords,
they’re all that: you won’t find their equals for
cleverness [38]anywhere. And the books they collect! Their
library is quite famous.... Look,” continued Caleb, pointing,
“it is just the time when they have their mid-day meal: it seems
to be philosophical to do so earlier than princely nobles are used to
do. No doubt it will interest you, as strangers, to see so many very
wise and poverty-stricken scholars and philosophers eating their black
broth.”
The colonnades of the Museum loomed aloft; there were statues to
commemorate famous men of learning; and there was an immense rounded
exedra, from which lectures were delivered at frequent intervals. The
travellers entered the cenaculum, the refectory, which was wide, lofty
and very long; the scholars and philosophers sat eating at long tables;
Lucius was struck by the fact that they were sitting, instead of
reclining.
“They don’t know any better,” Caleb explained.
“They just sit down for a moment and gobble up their broth; they
are not epicures, they are only just clever, you see. They have more in
their heads, my lords, than in their pockets. But they have plenty in
their heads beyond a doubt.” [39]
A philosopher moved towards the strangers. He was very old, frail
and grey and looked like a long dry stalk, in his toga. He smiled and
mumbled words which at first were incomprehensible. From the folds of
his garment he stretched forth a clawlike hand. He was begging; and
Lucius gave him some money.
“The highest philosophy is ... to be satisfied with
little,” he then said, plainly, in pure Greek.
And he bowed, ironically, and turned away with the movement of a
long dry stalk, in his dirty cloak.
“The shameless rascal!” cried Uncle Catullus,
indignantly.
But Lucius laughed and looked down the long table at which the men
of learning ate. Sometimes a beggar would come up to them; and they
gave him their bread and fruit. Sometimes, too, dogs snuffled around;
and the men of learning flung them their offal, over which the dogs
choked greedily. Two ibises also walked in ludicrous high-legged state
through the cenaculum, pecking here and there, and kept the floor
clean, though they themselves were not so cleanly.
The travellers returned to their litters; [40]and,
amid much shouting and cursing and swearing at street-boys and cracking
of whips at beggars, the procession started, while Caleb, for no
reason, insisted on making his mare rear and curvet across the street
with elegant movements of her fore-feet.
But now, smiling with his black eyes and white teeth, he bent to one
side, low enough almost to slip from his mount, and asked Lucius:
“Would your lordship now like to see the Soma?”
And through the public gardens of Bruchium, along the
Paneum—an artificial little rocky mountain built up in the shape
of a top or pineapple—the procession trotted to the Soma, the
burying-place of the Ptolemies, where it lay in the cool shade of
sycamores and tamarisks. A long avenue of recumbent sphinxes,
male—bearded—and female—high-breasted—led to
the pyramid tombs. The travellers alighted and the old priests in
charge appeared.
“These distinguished strangers wish to see the burial-places
of the Ptolemies,” said Caleb. “They are princely nobles
and no doubt will also be interested in the tomb of Alexander the
Great.” [41]
“Death is but a slumbering and a twilight transition to the
halls of eternal sunshine,” replied the priest in charge.
“Earthly greatness is the perishable step to the imperishable
palace of Osiris, where our dead monarchs now sit enthroned around him,
their heads circled with the pschent and their hands grasping the
scarab sceptre. And great Isis has appeared to them as the splendour of
truth, for she lifted her veil for their delight, so that they saw her.
Life is but a dream, death is a bridge and eternity is life.”
Caleb walked mincingly in front, on the tips of his red
riding-boots, and pointed out things, while the old priest went on
reciting the eternal verities, as though to himself, The tombs of
granite, porphyry and marble, inscribed with hieroglyphics, rose like
temples, pyramid-shaped. The priest now went in front of the travellers
and descended a few steps: inside, in the subterranean vault,
invisible, the mummies rested in their painted sarcophagi; standing
lamps burned on their tripods, perfumes rose in a cloud from vases and
dishes; and daintily-coloured glass vessels, filled with oil, honey and
fruit, stood on low bronze tables, while amphoræ of consecrated
water awaited the hour of the resurrection, [42]when the
dead should rise and be baptized into the true new life, which was
eternity. There was an overpowering scent of sickly-sweet aromatics;
and in the mist of the perfumes the big, wide-open eyes of the painted
images on the sarcophagus-lids stared, ghostly and superhuman, straight
before them into the brightening future. They were images of bearded
kings and ibis-crowned queens; sometimes they were images of
children.
Through the mist of the aromatics the golden, winged suns gleamed in
the embrace of the snakes coiled tail in mouth. Sacred Horus, son of
Osiris and Isis, the radiant redeemer of mankind, who descended out of
pity on a sinful world, bestrode Typhon, the grinning spirit of evil.
There were images of the god Apis, of the god Râ, of Thoth and
Anubis, with the heads of an ox, an ibis, a dog.
After this, the shade of the sycamores and tamarisks outside the
tombs was silver-green and cool; and the pure air of the sunny morning
seemed strange after the perfumed, sickly-sweet atmosphere of the
sultry underground sepulchres. The priest in charge stopped before a
gleaming marble pyramid. The narrow bronze door hung tapering upwards
[43]between pilasters carved with lotus-capitals.
“The tomb of Alexander of Macedon,” said the custodian,
solemnly.
They went inside. Again, burning lamps shed their fragrance. There
was a heavy mist of nard. Behind a bronze railing on a basalt pedestal
stood a sarcophagus of transparent crystal, polished and engraved. And
within this thick crystal, in a green watery light, where the flame of
the lamps was mirrored in the glass, a mummy lay visible. It was like
the chrysalis of a gigantic moth. The face was stained brown with
balsam and salve and stared with eyes of beryl. The hair and short
beard were painted gold. Many-coloured bandages wrapped the body in a
close sheath; and the legs also were closely fastened together in a
case of gold filagree.
The mummy lay on a mattress of striped byssus, the head on a byssus
pillow. The scarlet lips seemed to grin in the crisp golden beard and
the beryl eyes were full of amazement at what they saw in eternity.
“These are the sacred remains of the great Alexander,”
said the priest in charge. “History teaches us that Ptolemy, son
of Lagus, took the body of the hero and conqueror from Perdiccas, who
was bringing it back [44]from Babylon to Macedon, but was passing
through Egypt in the hope of conquering our sacred country. Ptolemy
marched against him; Perdiccas had hardly set foot in Egypt when he
perished at the hands of his own soldiery on an island which had been
surrounded by Ptolemy’s troops. With Perdiccas were the royal
family: Alexander’s pregnant widow Roxana and her young children.
They were allowed to embark for Macedon, but the body of Alexander the
Great was carried to Alexandria and buried in state in a massive gold
sarcophagus. This sarcophagus was stolen by Ptolemy Parisactus, a
pretender to the Egyptian throne, who invaded the country from Syria
with a host of troops. Alexander’s body, however, was rescued
from his hands and laid in this crystal coffin. Here it
lies.”
Lucius and his companions stared, greatly moved by the sight of this
corpse nearly three centuries old, embalmed and bandaged, with its feet
in a sheath of gold filagree and its beryl eyes staring with surprise.
Was this chrysalis all that remained of the great Alexander, whom the
oracle of Ammon had declared to be the son of Ammon-Râ son of the
sun-god? [45]
Only Caleb remained indifferent, with his mincing gait and an
incredulous little laugh at the genuineness of Alexander’s body,
to which he had already conducted so many “princely
nobles,” including Kardusi of Persia and Baabab of
Mesopotamia.
“Here lies Alexander the Great,” continued the priest in
charge. “The warrior, the conqueror, the king of kings, the son
of the sacred sun-god, Ammon-Râ, descended upon earth. He lived
to be thirty-three in this terrestrial life. But this life is a dream
and death is the bridge to the life that is the eternal reality. The
soul has departed from this house embalmed with precious
ointments....”
And he added, in a different voice:
“Even to your excellencies the charge is only one gold stater
a head....”
“I will pay for you, my lord!” smiled Caleb, with an
elegant bow to Lucius.
And he paid the priest, who went on speaking, with the gold coins
shining in his uplifted hand:
“Generosity is a great virtue. He who gives more than he is
asked to give earns the favour of Thoth, who sews the good chances of
fortune upon the earth.” [46]
Caleb grinned with flashing teeth to show that he understood and
dropped another half-stater into the priest’s palm.
The travellers stepped out of the sepulchre. The sunny morning
outside seemed strange, with silver-green shadows between waving
tamarisks and rustling sycamore-leaves.
Lucius was pale. And he said to Thrasyllus and Uncle Catullus:
“Death!... Death!... She is perhaps dead.... She is drowned,
perhaps, in the sea ... and we shall never recover her exquisite body,
to embalm it....”
“In any case she has disappeared, my dear nephew,” said
Uncle Catullus, trying to console him. “Let us think of her no
more. By all the gods, try to forget her: she had thick ankles and
large feet.... Lucius, do be sensible at last! Enjoy yourself during
this interesting tour. We have had a morning more interesting than any
that we ever had at Rome. We have seen an ideal system of scavenging,
we have heard philosophical and religious truths and we have seen the
mummy of Alexander! I’ve really received too many new
impressions. My brains are soaked like an overfull [47]sponge:
they can contain no more this morning. That sated condition of the head
makes my stomach feel empty, as empty as my pocket when your liberality
has forgotten to line it for your old uncle. My dear Lucius, when
travelling one must be sparing ... of one’s powers. I suggest to
our indefatigable guide that we should go home and see if, in our
absence, our trusty cook has remembered that, though life is a dream,
even the dead and therefore all the more the living have to be fed. The
dead are sustained with oil, honey and fruit: I am curious to see what
our cook’s pious thoughts have prepared to-day for the
living.”
The procession trotted home through the gardens of Bruchium, the
palace quarter, and along the Hippodrome to Master Ghizla’s great
diversorium, or guest-house. It stood near the Canopian gate in an oval
garden, behind a hedge of tall cactuses; the door opened between two
figures of Hermes. Here sat the janitor, or porter; and the travellers
were struck by the fact that a winged head of Hermes, in marble,
crowned the marble architrave of the door. Caducei, or
Hermes’-wands, with winding snakes, were carved on the pilasters
of the door; for the diversorium [48]was dedicated to Hermes and
known in the quarter as the Hermes House.
The janitor rose and bowed, with his hands stretched to the ground.
Master Ghizla also, standing beside a statue of Hermes in the middle of
his garden, bowed in this fashion, bending low, with his hands
stretched groundwards.
The procession trotted in, the travellers alighted, but Caleb sat
his mare, bowed gracefully and, stooping forward, whispered in
Lucius’ ear:
“After you have rested, my lord, I will take you whither you
please, I will procure you whatsoever you please ... for your
lordship’s pleasure and gratification. Whithersoever you please
and whatsoever you please.... I wish you good luck at your
repast.”
With that he threw the mare on her haunches, stood up in the
stirrups, waved his burnous, uttered a cry and rode away, in a cloud of
graceful gestures.
The diversorium consisted of several low buildings. It harboured
Arabian and Phœnician merchants, who looked out curiously,
squatting on mats or lying at their meal, served by black slaves. But
[49]Master Ghizla led his “princely
guests” to their own suites; and Vettius and Rufus received the
travellers on the threshold. They had worked to good purpose, conveying
furniture, boxes and packing-cases on camels and mules. A Babylonian
carpet lay upon the floor; the travellers’ own beds were ready;
in the corners of Lucius’ bedroom stood bronze and marble
statues, for no important Roman with any pretension to taste travelled
without carrying a few of his treasures with him; and perfumes burned
before the statues. There were curtains hanging from rings; and
garments lay ready, neatly folded and strewn with fragrant flowers, on
long, low, sycamore-wood tables. There were metal mirrors on bronze
pedestals; all the brushes, tweezers and unguent-sticks, in gold
adorned with agates, lay spread on bronze tables; all the jars, pots
and vases essential to the toilet stood filled with cosmetics,
ointments and perfumes. All this furniture and upholstery, all these
useful and artistic possessions had been brought over from the
ship.
“My diversorium boasts every possible comfort, my lord, and
all the latest conveniences,” bragged Ghizla, “which
visitors [50]like your lordship demand in these
days.”
He lifted a curtain beside Lucius’ couch: there was in fact a
marble basin with taps, under a canopy.
“And here,” said Master Ghizla, “is your
triclinium.”
The dining-room which Master Ghizla described by this high-sounding
name was a pleasant, spacious, airy apartment, with sun-blinds between
pillars; and, as Lucius entered, he was greeted with the music of
harps. For all the wealthy young Roman’s “family”
were drawn up there in two rows, awaiting his arrival: Vettius and
Rufus and Tarrar, the little black slave; all his slaves, male and
female, all the great household without which no distinguished Roman
thought it possible to live, even—indeed especially—when
travelling. And, amid the female slaves, stood the Greek slave from
Cos, Cora, with two other harpists; and they drew long, descending
cords from their strings, while Cora sang a short song of welcome to
the gracious master. Incense burned on dishes; two S-shaped couches
coiled round a long, low table covered with a yellow-and-white cloth
and already laid with yellow-and-white crockery and gleaming gold
plate. A little fountain of [51]verbena-water played in the middle of
a bowl filled with blue lotus.
Lucius assured Vettius and Rufus that he was really pleased; indeed
it was as though he were at home. Then, because Uncle Catullus said
that he was starving, he invited his uncle and parasite, who had so
often diverted him with a merry jest, to lie down, lay down himself and
motioned Thrasyllus, his friend and tutor, to a stool by his side, for,
though Thrasyllus shared his pupil’s meals, as a freedman he
remained the inferior and ate seated. Tarrar and three girl-slaves
waited, while Cora and the two harpists struck a soft melody from their
strings or danced a little ballet.
Uncle Catullus was glad to have neither oysters nor roast peacock
set before him: Lucius’ cook had surpassed himself, in this first
exotic repast, with a first course of peppered water-melon in sugared
wine-sauce, with which was served an Egyptian spiced bread, named
caces; next, young tunnies, surrounded by savoury eggs, stuffed olives
and finely chopped coxcombs; next, a sucking-pig served on bread-fruit
and cucumbers; lastly, a honey-tart, covered with a cream custard
containing stoned dates and cinnamon. [52]They had the celebrated
Mareotis wine, thick as ink and purple as molten wax, poured by Master
Ghizla himself out of a jar still warm from the sun; and there was the
topaz-yellow Ethiopian liqueur of Napata, which he dripped drop by drop
into goblets filled with snow and which spread an aroma as of roses
steeped in silphium.
Uncle Catullus ate his fill and Lucius too did honour to the meal,
however much his heart still suffered and craved, while Thrasyllus was
moderate as always. Then a legitimate drowsiness overcame the three
travellers and they withdrew behind their curtains, to rest.
[53]
