Homo Sum — Complete by Georg Ebers (great books to read TXT) 📕

horizon, filmy veils of mist floated across the hilly coast-line, the silver clouds against the pure sky changed their hue to the tender blush of a newly opened rose, and the undulating shore floated in the translucent violet of the amethyst. There not a breath of air was stirring, not a sound broke the solemn stillness of the evening. Not till the sea was taking a darker and still darker hue, till the glow on the mountain peaks and in the west had begun to die away, and the night to spread its shades over the heights and hollows, did Stephanus unclasp his folded hands and softly speak his companion’s name. Paulus started and said, speaking like a man who is aroused from a dream and who is suddenly conscious of having heard some one speak, “You are right; it is growing dark and cool and you must go back into the cave.”

Stephanus offered no opposition and let himself be led back to his bed; while Paulus was spreading the sheepskin over the sick man he sighed deeply.

“What disturbs your soul?” asked the older man. “It is—it was—what good can it do me!” cried Paulus in strong excitement. “There we sat, witnesses of the most glorious marvels of the Most High, and I, in shameless idolatry, seemed to see before me the chariot of Helios with its glorious winged-horses, snorting fire as they went, and Helios himself in the guise of Hermas, with gleaming golden hair, and the dancing Hours, and the golden gates of the night. Accursed rabble of demons!—”

At this point the anchorite was interrupted, for Hermas entered the cave, and laying a young steinbock, that he had killed, before the two men, exclaimed, “fine fellow, and he cost me no more than one arrow. I will light a fire at once and roast the best pieces. There are plenty of bucks still on our mountain, and I know where to find them.”

In about an hour, father and son were eating the pieces of meat, which had been cooked on a spit. Paulus declined to sup with them, for after he had scourged himself in despair and remorse for the throwing of the discus, he had vowed a strict fast.

“And now,” cried Hermas, when his father declared himself satisfied, after seeming to relish greatly the strong meat from which he had so long abstained, “and now the best is to come! In this flask I have some strengthening wine, and when it is empty it will be filled afresh.” Stephanus took the wooden beaker that his son offered him, drank a little, and then said, while he smacked his tongue to relish the after-taste of the noble juice, “That is something choice!—Syrian wine! only taste it, Paulus.”

Paulus took the beaker in his hand, inhaled the fragrance of the golden fluid, and then murmured, but without putting it to his lips, “That is not Syrian; it is Egyptian, I know it well. I should take it to be Mareotic.”

“So Sirona called it,” cried Hermas, “and you know it by the mere smell! She said it was particularly good for the sick.”

“That it is,” Paulus agreed; but Stephanus asked in surprise, “Sirona? who is she?”

The cave was but dimly lighted by the fire that had been made at the opening, so that the two anchorites could not perceive that Hermas reddened all over as he replied, “Sirona? The Gaulish woman Sirona? Do you not know her? She is the wife of the centurion down in the oasis.”

“How do you come to know her?” asked his father.

“She lives in Petrus’ house,” replied the lad, “and as she had heard of your wound—”

“Take her my thanks when you go there to-morrow morning,” said Stephanus. “To her and to her husband too. Is he a Gaul?”

“I believe so—nay, certainly,” answered Hermas, “they call him the lion, and he is no doubt a Gaul?”

When the lad had left the cave the old man laid himself down to rest, and Paulus kept watch by him on his son’s bed. But Stephanus could not sleep, and when his friend approached him to give him some medicine, he said, “The wife of a Gaul has done me a kindness, and yet the wine would have pleased me better if it had not come from a Gaul.”

Paulus looked at him enquiringly, and though total darkness reigned in the cave, Stephanus felt his gaze and said, “I owe no man a grudge and I love my neighbor. Great injuries have been done me, but I have for given—from the bottom of my heart forgiven. Only one man lives to whom I wish evil, and he is a Gaul.”

“Forgive him too,” said Paulus, “and do not let evil thoughts disturb your sleep.”

“I am not tired,” said the sick man, “and if you had gone through such things as I have, it would trouble your rest at night too.”

“I know, I know,” said Paulus soothingly. “It was a Gaul that persuaded your wretched wife into quitting your house and her child.”

“And I loved, oh! how I loved Glycera!” groaned the old man. “She lived like a princess and I fulfilled her every wish before it was uttered. She herself has said a hundred times that I was too kind and too yielding, and that there was nothing left for her to wish. Then the Gaul came to our house, a man as acrid as sour wine, but with a fluent tongue and sparkling eyes. How he entangled Glycera I know not, nor do I want to know; he shall atone for it in hell. For the poor lost woman I pray day and night. A spell was on her, and she left her heart behind in my house, for her child was there and she loved Hermas so fondly; indeed she was deeply devoted to me. Think what the spell must be that can annihilate a mother’s love! Wretch, hapless wretch that I am! Did you ever love a woman, Paulus?”

“You ought to be asleep,” said Paulus in a warning tone. “Who ever lived nearly half a century without feeling love! Now I will not speak another word, and you must take this drink that Petrus has sent for you.” The senator’s medicine was potent, for the sick man fell asleep and did not wake till broad day lighted up the cave.

Paulus was still sitting on his bed, and after they had prayed together, he gave him the jar which Hermas had filled with fresh water before going down to the oasis.

“I feel quite strong,” said the old man. “The medicine is good; I have slept well and dreamed sweetly; but you look pale and as if you had not slept.”

“I,” said Paulus, “I lay down there on the bed. Now let me go out in the air for a moment.” With these words he went out of the cave.

As soon as he was out of sight of Stephanus he drew a deep breath, stretched his limbs, and rubbed his burning eyes; he felt as if there was sand gathered under their lids, for he had forbidden them to close for three days and nights. At the same time he was consumed by a violent thirst, for neither food nor drink had touched his lips for the same length of time. His hands were beginning to tremble, but the weakness and pain that he experienced filled him with silent joy, and he would willingly have