Georg Ebers - Serapis. Complete

“Well, the temple of Dionysus was not to be found, for Bishop Theophilus has had it destroyed; so to what divinity could we offer our wreath and cake? Here in Egypt there is none but the great Mother Isis. Her sanctuary is on the shore of Lake Mareotis and mother found it at once. There she fell into conversation with a priestess who, as soon as she learnt that my mother belonged to a family of musicians—though Dame Herse was cautious in announcing this fact—and hoped to find employment in Alexandria, led her away to a young lady who was closely veiled. This lady,” Orpheus went on—he not only played the flute but took the higher parts for a man’s voice and could also strike the lyre—“desired us to go to her later at her own house, where she would speak with us. She drove off in a fine carriage and we, of course followed her orders; Agne was with us too. A splendid house! I never saw anything handsomer in Rome or Antioch. We were kindly received, and with the lady there were another very old lady and a tall grave man, a priest I should fancy or a philosopher, or something of that kind.”

“Not some Christian trap?” asked Karnis suspiciously. “You do not know this place, and since the edict…”

“Never fear, father! There were images of the gods in the halls and corridors, and in the room where we were received by Gorgo, the beautiful daughter of Porphyrius, there was an altar before an image of Isis, quite freshly anointed.—This Porphyrius is a very rich merchant; we learnt that afterwards, and many other things. The philosopher asked us at once whether we were aware that Theodosius had lately promulgated a new edict forbidding young maidens to appear in public as singers or flute-players.”

“And did Agne hear that?” said the old man in a low voice as he pointed to the curtain.

“No, she and Dada were in the garden on to which the room opened, and mother explained at once that though Agne was a Christian she was a very good girl, and that so long as she remained in our service she was bound to sing with us whenever she was required. The philosopher exclaimed at once: ‘The very thing!’ and they whispered together, and called the girls and desired them to show what they could do.”

“And how did they perform?” asked the old man, who was growing excited.

“Dada warbled like a lark, and Agne—well you know how it always is. Her voice sounded lovely but it was just as usual. You can guess how much there is in her and how deep her feeling is but she never quite brings it out. What has she to complain of with us? And yet whatever she sings has that mournful, painful ring which even you can do nothing to alter. However, she pleased them better than Dada did, for I noticed that Gorgo and the gentleman glanced at each other and at her, and whispered a word now and then which certainly referred to Ague. When they had sung two songs the young lady came towards us and praised both the girls, and asked whether we would undertake to learn something quite new. I told her that my father was a great musician who could master the most difficult things at the first hearing.”

“The most difficult! Hm… that depends,” said the old man. “Did she show it you?”

“No; it is something in the style of Linus and she sang it to us.”

“The daughter of the rich Porphyrius sang for your entertainment? Yours?” said Karnis laughing. “By Sirius! The world is turning upside down. Now that girls are forbidden to perform to the gentlefolks, art is being cultivated by the upper classes; it cannot be killed outright. For the future the listeners will be paid to keep quiet and the singers pay for the right of torturing their ears—our ears, our luckless ears will be victimized.”

Orpheus smiled and shook his head; then, again dropping his knife, he went on eagerly:

“But if you could only hear her! You would give your last copper piece to hear her again.”

“Indeed!” muttered his father. “Well, there are very good teachers here. Something by Linus did you say she sang?”

“Something of that kind; a lament for the dead of very great power: ‘Return, oh! return my beloved, came back—come home!’ that was the burthen of it. And there was a passage which said: ‘Oh that each tear had a voice and could join with me in calling thee!’ And how she sang it, father! I do not think I ever in my life heard anything like it. Ask mother. Even Dada’s eyes were full of tears.”

“Yes, it was beautiful,” the mother agreed. “I could not help wishing that you were there.”

Karnis rose and paced the little room, waving his arms and muttering:

“Ah! so that is how it is! A friend of the Muses. We saved the large lute—that is well. My chlamys has an ugly hole in it—if the girls were not asleep… but the first thing to-morrow Ague.... Tell me, is she handsome, tall?”

Herse had been watching her excitable husband with much satisfaction and now answered his question: “Not a Hera—not a Muse—decidedly not. Hardly above the middle height, slightly made, but not small, black eyes, long lashes, dark straight eyebrows. I could hardly, like Orpheus, call her beautiful…”

“Oh yes, mother.—Beautiful is a great word, and one my father has taught me to use but rarely; but she—if she is not beautiful who is?—when she raised her large dark eyes and threw back her head to bring out her lament; tone after tone seemed to come from the bottom of her heart and rise to the furthest height of heaven. Ah, if Agne could learn to sing like that! ‘Throw your whole soul into your singing.’—You have told her that again and again. Now, Gorgo can and does. And she stood there as steady and as highly strung as a bow, every note came out with the ring of an arrow and went straight to the heart, as clear and pure as possible.”

“Be silent!” cried the old man covering his ears with his hands. “I shall not close an eye till daylight, and then… Orpheus, take that silver—take it all, I have no more—go early to market and buy flowers—laurel branches, ivy, violets and roses. But no lotuses though the market here is full of them; they are showy, boastful things with no scent, I cannot bear them. We will go crowned to the Temple of the Muses.”

“Buy away, buy all you want!” said Herse laughing, as she showed her husband some bright gold pieces. “We got that to-day, and if all is well....” Here she paused, pointed to the curtain, and went on again in a lower tone: “It all depends of course, on Agne’s playing us no trick.”

“How so? Why? She is a good girl and I will…”

“No, no,” said Herse holding him back. “She does not know yet what the business is. The lady wants her…”

“Well?”

“To sing in the Temple of Isis.”

Karnis colored. He was suddenly called from a lovely dream back to the squalid reality. “In the Temple of Isis,” he said gloomily. “Agne? In the face of all the people? And she knows nothing about it?”

“Nothing, father.”

“No? Well then, if that is the case… Agne, the Christian, in the Temple of Isis—here, here, where Bishop Theophilus is destroying all our sanctuaries and the monks outdo their master. Ah, children, children, how pretty and round and bright a soap-bubble is, and how soon it bursts. Do you know at all what it is that you are planning? If the black flies smell it out and it becomes known, by the great Apollo! we should have fared better at the hands of the pirates. And yet, and yet.—Do you know at all how the girl…?”

“She wept at the lady’s singing,” interrupted Herse eagerly, “and, silent as she generally is, on her way home she said: ‘To sing like that! She is a happy girl!’”

Karnis looked up with renewed confidence.

“Ah!” he exclaimed, “that is my Agne. Yes, yes, she truly loves her divine art. She can sing, she will sing! We will venture it, if you, I, all of us die for it!