Sónnica la cortesana. English, Page 2

  CHAPTER II

  SAGUNTUM

  The sun was high in the heavens when Actaeon walked toward the city alongthe thoroughfare called the Road of the Serpent.

  On his way he overtook wagons laden with leather bottles of oil andamphorae of wine. The files of slaves bending under the weight of heavyburdens, their feet covered with dust, drew to one side of the road togive him passage, displaying that submission and shrinking which afreeman always inspired. The Greek paused a moment before the oil mills,watching the enormous stones revolved by chained slaves; then hecontinued on his way skirting the bases of the hills, on the crests ofwhich rose the _speculae_, little red watchtowers, which, with theirfires, announced to the Acropolis of Saguntum the arrival of ships, orany activity observed on the opposite slope where began the territory ofthe hostile Turdetani.

  The fertile fields of the immense domain were flooded by a golden showerof morning sunshine. From the villages, from the country-houses, fromthe innumerable dwellings scattered throughout the extensive valley,streamed people to the Road of the Serpent, traveling toward the city.

  The majority of the Saguntine people lived in the country, cultivatingthe soil. The city was relatively small. In it dwelt only the richagriculturists, the magistrates, and foreigners. When some dangerthreatened, when the Turdetani attempted an incursion into the Saguntineterritory, all the people streamed to the city, seeking the shelter ofits walls, and the rustics, driving their flocks before them, mingledwith the artisans of Saguntum, and took refuge within these precinctswhich they only visited when they came to town to sell their wares.

  Actaeon guessed, by the great number of people met along the way, thatthis must be market day in the Forum. The country folk strode along insingle file, carrying on their heads baskets covered with leaves, cladonly in a dark tunic which hung far down their bodies, outlining theirforms at every step. The peasants, sun-browned, sinewy, their singlegarment a skirt of skins or of coarse cloth, guided oxen drawing carts,or asses laden with bundles, and up and down the road sounded theincessant jingling of bells from flocks of goats, and the gentle lowingof cattle, as they trotted along in clouds of red dust raised by theirsharp hoofs.

  Some families were already returning from market, displaying with pridethe articles for which they had bartered their fruits at the booths inthe Forum, and their friends stopped them to admire the new fabrics, thered terra cotta cups, fresh and brilliant, the rudely wrought feminineornaments of solid silver, and their inspection was followed by a"salve!" of congratulation, which made their possessors flush withchildish pride.

  Brown girls with firm, spare limbs and high foreheads, their hairhanging loose in Celtiberian fashion, marched in pairs carrying fromtheir shoulders long poles on which hung branches of flowers for theladies of the city. Others carried enormous bunches of red cherries,wrapped in leaves to preserve them from the dust, and at intervals theysprang and shouted between outbursts of noisy laughter, mimicking thevoices and gestures of the rich youths of Saguntum, who, to the greatscandal of the city, gathered in Sonnica's garden to imitate before thestatue of Dionysus the picturesque follies of Greece.

  Actaeon admired the beauty of the landscape; the groves of fig trees,which lent fame to Saguntum, just beginning to put forth new leaves,forming upon their ancient branches canopies of verdure which swept theground; the vines, like waves of emerald, spreading over the plain andclimbing the far off hills to the forests of pine and holly; and theolive orchards planted symmetrically in the red soil, forming colonnadesof twisted branches with capitals of silvery leafage. The sight of thissplendid landscape moved him, recalling to mind memories of hischildhood. The valley was as beautiful as that of Mother Greece; here hewould remain if the gods did not urge him forward again on his restlesspilgrimage about the world.

  He walked almost an hour, keeping ever before him the red mountain withthe city at its base, and on its summit the innumerable constructions ofthe Acropolis. At a turn of the road he saw the people stop before ashrine--a long altar of stone, upon which an enormous serpent of bluemarble extended its scaly rings. The rustics deposited flowers andearthen cups of milk before the motionless reptile, which with headlifted and venomous jaws open seemed to threaten them. In this placethe unfortunate Zacynthus had been bitten by the serpent as he wasreturning to Greece with the red cattle stolen from Geryon. His body wasburned on the Acropolis, and the city grew around the spot. The simplepeople worshipped the reptile as one of the founders of their _patria_,and with affectionate words they surrounded it with offerings, whichmysteriously disappeared, causing many to believe that it came to lifein the dark, and they imagined that they heard its frightful hissing forgreat distances on stormy nights.

  As Actaeon drew nearer to Saguntum he saw the tombs which rose on bothsides of the road, attracting the attention of the traveler by theirinscriptions. Behind these extended gardens enclosed by thick hedgesover which peeped the branches of fruit trees belonging to thecountry-houses of the rich. Some slave women were watching nude childrenof pronounced Grecian type who played and wrestled. A corpulent old man,wrapped in a purple chlamys, stood in a garden gateway observing thepassing of the flood of wretched people with the cold arrogance of amerchant newly risen to affluence. On the terrace of a villa Actaeonfancied that he saw a gold-dyed coiffure in Athenian style interlacedwith red ribbons, and near it a waving fan of multicolored feathers ofAsiatic birds. These were the villas of the rich patricians of Saguntumwho had retired from business.

  Upon nearing the river, the Baetis-Perkes, which divided the city fromthe champaign, the Greek noticed that he was walking beside a girl,almost a child, driving a flock of goats before her. Slender,well-formed, with spare limbs, her skin a brown and velvety color, shewould have looked like a boy had it not been that her short tunic, openon the left side, afforded glimpses of her slightly rounded breast, witha gentle cup-like curve, as it were a bud beginning to expand with thevigor of youth. Her black eyes, moist and large, seemed to fill herwhole face, bathing it with a mysterious effulgence, and through herlips, dry and cracked by the wind, shone her white teeth, strong andregular. Her hair knotted behind her neck she had adorned with a garlandof poppies plucked in the wheat. She carried over her shoulder withmasculine ease a heavy net filled with white cheeses as round as loavesof bread, fresh, and still oozing whey. With her disengaged hand she wascaressing the white fleece of a straight-horned goat, her favorite,which rubbed against her limbs, ringing a little copper bell worn on itsneck.

  Actaeon was charmed contemplating her girlish figure, so sturdy forlabor, in which the freshness of youth triumphed over fatigue. Herslenderness, with lines erect and harmonious, reminded him of theelegance of the Tanagra figurines on the tables of the hetaerae of Athens;of the imperious virility of the canephorae painted in black around Greekvases.

  The girl cast furtive glances at him, and then smiled, showing her teethwith juvenile confidence on feeling herself admired.

  "You are a Greek, are you not?"

  She spoke like the people of the port, in that strange idiom of amaritime city open to all peoples, a mixture of Celtiberian, Greek, andLatin.

  "I am from Athens. And you--who are you?"

  "I am called Rhanto, and my mistress is Sonnica the rich. Have you notheard of her? Her ships are in every port, she has slaves by thehundred, and she drinks from cups of gold. Do you see above those olivetrees, on the side toward the sea, that small rose-colored tower? It isthe villa where she lives as soon as the passing of winter allows her toleave the city. I belong at the villa, and I am in her service duringthe open season. My father has charge of her flocks, and she often comesdown to our stables to play with the goats."

  Actaeon was surprised at the frequency with which he had heard of Sonnicasince setting foot on Saguntine soil. The name of that opulent woman,whom some called "the rich," and others "the courtesan," was in everymouth. The shepherdess, who evinced a certain attraction toward thestranger, continued:

  "She is good. Sometimes
she seems sad; she says she languishes withtedium in the midst of her riches; she is indifferent to everything, andin that mood she is capable of letting all her slaves be crucifiedwithout interfering. But when she is happy she is as kind as a mother,and she will not allow us to be punished. Her overseer in charge of theslaves is a cruel man, an Iberian freedman, who watches us, and at everyinstant threatens us with the lash and the cross. He has whipped myfather several times on account of a lost ewe, or a goat which hadbroken its leg, or because a little milk was spilled in thecheese-making season. I would have received his blows myself had it notbeen for the respect he feels for me on account of having seen mecaressed sometimes by Sonnica."

  Rhanto spoke of the terrible situation of the slaves with thenaturalness of a creature accustomed from birth to witnessing suchseverities.

  "In winter," she continued, "I go to the mountain with my father, and Iawait with impatience the coming of the season when my mistress willreturn to the villa, and I can come down to the plain where there areflowers. Then I can spend the whole day in the shade of a treesurrounded by my goats."

  "And how have you learned something of Greek?"

  "Sonnica speaks it with rich people of the city, who are her friends,and with the slaves who serve her. Besides----"

  She hesitated, and her pale cheeks flushed.

  "Besides," she persisted, with animation, "my friend Erotion, the son ofMopsus, the archer who came from Rhodes, speaks it. He is a friend whohelps me watch the goats when he is not working in the pottery, whichalso belongs to Sonnica."

  She pointed to the great works near the river, the famous Saguntinepotteries, which revealed, between clay walls, the cupolas of its ovenslike enormous red bee-hives.

  From one side of the road among the trees, sounded mellow notes, wildand joyous flute-tones, and Actaeon saw a boy spring into the highway. Hewas about the same age as Rhanto, tall, slender, barefooted, clad onlyin a soft goat-skin which hung over his left shoulder, leaving his rightexposed, and was tied together at the waist. His eyes were like livecoals, his black hair had bluish tones and, forming short ringlets,shook like a heavy mane with the nervous movements of his head. Hisarms, thin but strong, with the skin stretched by the tension of veinsand tendons, were stained to the elbow by the red potter's clay.

  Actaeon, as he contemplated the short, correct profile of the handsomeyouth, and the nervous vivacity of his body, was reminded of theapprentices to the sculptors at Athens, artistic youths who in the broadglare of day, before returning to the studios, scandalized thewell-behaved citizens by their frolics in the promenade of theCerameicus.

  "This is Erotion," said Rhanto, who smiled sweetly as she saw herfriend. "Although born in Saguntum, he is a Greek like yourself,stranger."

  The youth did not glance at the girl; he stood looking at the strangerrespectfully.

  "Are you from Athens, really?" he said with admiration. "You cannot denyit. You look like Ulysses when he was wandering about the world, passingthrough the adventures related by Father Homer. I have seen just such asyou on vases and in reliefs, resembling in figure and dress the husbandof Penelope. Greeting, son of Pallas!"

  "And you--are you also one of Sonnica's slaves?"

  "No," the boy hastily answered with pride. "Rhanto is a slave, butperhaps some day she will not be. I am free; my father is Mopsus, aGreek from Rhodes, and the chief archer of Saguntum. He came from therewith no other fortune than his bow and arrows, and now he is rich, sincehis recent expedition against the Turdetani, and he figures as the firstin the militia of the city. I work in the pottery for Sonnica, who isvery fond of me. She it was who gave me the name of Erotion, becausewhen I was little I looked like a cupid. I am not one of those whomould clay, nor turn the wheel to shape the vases. They call me theartist; I make decorations of foliage, I model animals, I can make thehead of Diana from memory, and no one can engrave in clay the great sealof Saguntum as I can. Do you know what it is like? A ship without sails,with three banks of oars; above it flies Victory in long draperies,depositing a crown on the prow. I could, if you wish, model yourfigure----"

  But he stopped, as if ashamed at these last words, and added sadly:

  "How you must be laughing at me, stranger! You come from _there_, fromthat marvelous country of which my father so often talks. You must haveseen the Parthenon and Athene Promachos which navigators distinguish farout at sea long before they can descry Athens; the wonderful processionof horses in the metopes; the prodigious works of Phidias. How I long tosee all that! When a ship comes into port from Greece I run away fromthe pottery and spend whole days in the taverns with the mariners. Idrink with them, I give them presents of figurines in lewd attitudes,which make them laugh, just for the sake of getting them to tell me whatthey have seen--the temples, the statues, the paintings; and theirstories, instead of calming me, excite my longing.... Ah, if Sonnicawould allow it!... If only she would let me go in one of her ships whenthey set sail for Greece!"

  Afterward, he added earnestly:

  "This girl you see here, my sweet Rhanto, is all that sustains me. Ifshe did not exist I should long ago have sought the _gubernator_ of aship, should have sold myself to him as a slave, if necessary, totravel over the world, to see Greece, and to become an artist like thoseto whom you render there the same honors as to the gods."

  The three walked on in silence for some time behind the cloud of dustraised by the goats. The boy gradually recovered his serenity at theside of Rhanto, who had taken one of his hands in hers.

  "And you--why do you come here?" he asked Actaeon.

  "I came as did your father. I am a Greek without fortune, and I wish tooffer my arms to the Saguntine Republic in its wars with the Turdetani."

  "Speak to Mopsus. You will find him in the Forum, or above on theAcropolis near the temple of Hercules, where the magistrates gather. Hewill be glad to see you; he adores those of your race, and he will standsponsor for you before the city."

  Again silence fell. The Greek noticed the loving glances exchangedbetween the two young people, the fervid pressure of their claspedhands, the tender inclination of their healthy young bodies, whichseeking each other, clung together. Erotion, as if obeying an unspokenrequest from his beloved, drew from his bosom a flute made of a hollowreed, and began to blow upon it softly, producing tender, pastoralmusic, to which the goats responded with bleating.

  The Greek realized that his presence was becoming undesirable to thehappy lovers, for they gradually slackened their pace.

  "Farewell, children! Travel without haste; youth is on time whenever itarrives. We shall meet again in the city."

  "May the gods protect you, stranger," replied Rhanto. "If you needanything you will find me in the Forum where I have to sell thesecheeses and some others which were brought in the farmer's cart atdawn."

  "Farewell, Athenian! Speak to my father, but do not tell him with whomyou saw me."

  Actaeon crossed the river, picking his way between the carts which wereimmersed in the water up to their axles, and stood before the rampartsof the city, admiring their strength, the bases of undressed stone,fitted closely without mortar, supporting wall and towers of strongmasonry.

  At the gate of the Road of the Serpent, which was the main entrance, hewas detained by a jam of men, wagons, and horses in the narrow tunnel.Inside the city, and almost against the wall, was the temple of Diana, ashrine known throughout the world for its antiquity, and which gave nota little fame to the Saguntines. Actaeon paused to admire the roof ofjuniper planks of venerable age, but, eager to see the city, hecontinued on his way.

  There was to be seen down at the end of a straight street, where thebuildings widened out, forming an enormous right-angled space, a greatsquare plaza with beautiful structures sustained by arches, beneathwhich the people were swarming. It was the Forum. Above the roofs at thelower end could be seen houses and more houses with white walls climbingup the mountain slope; and in the background the walls of the Acropolis,the colonnades of the temples sustaining t
he friezes consisting ofenormous carved stones.

  Actaeon, following the road leading to the Forum, was reminded of themaritime suburb of the Piraeus. This was the merchants' district,inhabited mainly by Greeks. The stir of traffic could be seen throughthe windows of the lower stories; slaves were piling up bales; young menwith curly hair and aquiline noses were tracing on their wax tabletstheir complicated business accounts, and samples of their wares wereexposed on small tables before the doors of the houses; there were pilesof wheat or wool and heavy rough pieces of marble from the quarries. Themerchants, standing in their doorways and leaning against the jambs,talked with their customers, gesticulating and with smooth accentcalling upon the gods as witnesses that they were being ruined in theirbusiness.

  In some shops, the proprietors, in vestments embroidered with goldenflowers, wearing tall mitres and purple sandals, with light, sphinx-likeeyes, and stroking the curls of their perfumed beards, listened insilence to their customers. They were traders from Africa and Asia,Carthaginians, Egyptians, Phoenicians, who dealt in costlymerchandise--trinkets of gold, tusks of ivory, ostrich feathers, andpieces of amber. Before their doors paused rich women clad in whitemantles, followed by slaves, and as they talked they peeped their rosyfaces into the shop, fascinated by the exotic aroma of stimulatingspices from Asia and mysterious perfumes from the Orient. Rare birdsbrought from the East strode majestically among the bales with stridentcalls, trailing their multicolored plumage like a royal mantle.

  Actaeon, after hastily examining these shops, entered the Forum. It wasmarket day, and the life of the city streamed to the great square.Farmers spread out their garden stuff near the porticos; shepherds fromthe public domain piled their cheeses in pyramids in front of littlepitchers of milk, and women of the port, brown and almost naked, calledattention to their fresh fish, arranged upon beds of leaves in flat rushbaskets. At one end shepherds from the mountain, dressed in esparto,ferocious of aspect, and armed with lances, watched over cattle andhorses offered for sale. These were Celtiberians, of whom it was toldwith horror that they sometimes ate human flesh, and they seemed to feelimprisoned inside the plaza, contemplating with hostile eyes thatbee-like activity, so different from the independent solitude theyenjoyed in their wandering life. The riches excited their appetites forrobbing and horse-stealing, and, grasping their lances, they stared withferocious eyes at the group of armed mercenaries in the service of thecity, who at the lower end of the Forum, on the steps of the temple,guarded the senator charged with dispensing justice on market days.

  In the centre of the square swarmed the multitude, buying and dickering,dressed in a thousand colors, and speaking diverse tongues. The virtuouswomen of the city, simply dressed in white, passed along, followed byslaves who deposited in netted sacks the provision for the week; theGreeks, in long, saffron-colored chlamydes investigated everything,haggling tediously before making an insignificant purchase; theSaguntine citizens, Iberians who had lost their primitive rudenessthrough infinite intermarriages, imitated the manner and bearing of theRomans who were at the moment the people in highest esteem. Mingled withthese were natives from the interior, bearded, begrimed, with longdishevelled hair, attracted by the market in spite of their dislike forthe city, and particularly for the Greeks on account of their refinementand riches.

  Some Celtiberians, chiefs of the tribes nearest to Saguntum, remained onhorseback in the centre of the Forum, without putting aside theirlances, and still clinging to their shields of woven bull-sinews. Theywore triple-crested helmets and leather cuirasses, as if they were onhostile soil and feared treachery. Meanwhile their women, agile, brown,and masculine, moved from place to place, their ample vestments,embroidered in gayly colored flowers, fluttering as they walked, andanon they stopped with childish admiration before the table of someGreek selling crystal beads and coarsely engraved necklaces and trinketsof bronze.

  Mantles of finest linen and costly purple brushed against the nakedlimbs of slaves or against the Celtiberian sagum of black wool buckledat the shoulder. Coiffures in Grecian style with red ribbons plaited in,the tuft of curls at the back of the head resembling the flame of atorch, the forehead small as a sign of supreme beauty, mingled withcoiffures of the Celtiberian women, who wore their foreheads shaven andshiny to make them larger, their hair curled around a little stickplaced on their heads, forming a sharp horn from which hung a blackveil. Other Celtiberian women wore strong steel collars with littlewires which were brought together above the coiffure, and from thiscage, which enclosed the head, hung the veil, proudly displaying theirenormous foreheads, brilliant and luminous as the moon in her firstquarter.

  Actaeon lingered wondering at the costumes of these women, and at theirmasculine and warlike aspect. His quick Grecian perceptions divineddanger as he contemplated the barbarians motionless on their steeds inthe centre of the Forum, from that height dominating with looks ofhatred this nation of merchants and farmers. They were like birds ofprey that were compelled to come down to the plain as thieves in orderto find food for existence in their arid mountains. Saguntum surroundedby such peoples would some day have to struggle for supremacy againstthem.

  The Greek pondering this, entered the colonnades where the idle of thecity were gathered before the shops of barbers, money changers, andvendors of wines and refreshments. Actaeon could imagine himself still inthe Agora of Athens. Although smaller, this was the same world as hisnative city. Sedate citizens had themselves carried by a slave in awicker chair to take seats before the door of some shop to learn thenews. Newsmongers circulated from group to group spreading the moststupendous lies; parasites seeking an invitation to dine flattered therich whom they chanced to meet, and spoke ill of everything thathappened; unemployed pedagogues disputed in loud tones over a point inGreek grammar, and youthful citizens grumbled against the old senators,declaring that the Republic needed newer blood.

  The recent expedition against the Turdetani, and the great victorygained over them, was much discussed. They would no longer dare to raisetheir heads; their king Artabanes, a fugitive in the most remote oftheir territories, must be punished for the late defeat. And the youngSaguntines looked proudly at the trophies of lances, shields, andhelmets, hanging from the pilasters of the porticos. They were the armsof some hundreds of Turdetani killed or taken prisoner on the lastexpedition. Furniture and ornaments stolen in the villages of the enemyby the warriors of Saguntum were offered for sale at low prices in thebarber-shops. Nobody wanted them. The city was filled with such spoils.The Saguntine soldiers had returned, dragging in their wake a veritablearmy of loaded wagons and an interminable horde of men and beasts. Asthey thought of the triumph they smiled with the grim ferocity ofancient warfare, incapable of forgiving, and in which the greatest ofmercies for the conquered was slavery.

  The slave-market was situated near the temple where justice wasadministered. The slaves squatted on the ground in a circle, coveredwith rags, their hands clasped around their feet, their chins restingbetween their knees. Those born into slavery awaited the new master withthe passivity of beasts, their limbs emaciated by hunger, their headsshaved and covered by a white cap. Others, more closely watched by theslave dealer, were bearded, and over their filthy hair wore crowns ofbranches to indicate their condition as slaves taken in war. They wereTurdetani who had not given ransom. Astonishment and fury at findingthemselves reduced to slavery still showed in their glowering eyes. Manyof them wore chains, and on their bodies the cicatrices of the recentwar were still fresh. They glared at the hostile people, contractingtheir mouths as if with desire to bite and some of them restlessly movedtheir right arms which terminated in mere formless stumps. Their handshad been cut off in wars with tribes of the interior, whose custom itwas to thus render their prisoners useless.

  The Saguntines looked indifferently upon these enemies converted intochattels, into beasts, by the cruel law of conquest, and forgetting thepresence of the Turdetani they discussed the city's quarrels, therivalry of factions, which seemed to have been
stifled by theintervention of the Roman legates. On the steps of a temple close athand the bloodstains of those beheaded because of their friendship forCarthage could still be seen, and the adherents of Rome, who were in themajority, discoursed bravely and praised the energetic counsel of theenvoys of the great Republic. The city would now live in peace andsecurity under the protection of Rome.

  Actaeon, while listening to the conversation of these various groups,glanced toward the temple and thought that he saw in the crowd streamingup and down the steps the Celtiberian shepherd who had killed the Romanlegionary the night before. It was a swift vision; his dark sagumvanished in the multitude, and the Greek was uncertain if it were reallyhe.

  The morning advanced. Actaeon had spent a long time in the market, and hethought that now the hour had come for occupying himself with othermatters. He must see Mopsus the archer, up on the Acropolis, and hebegan the ascent following winding streets paved with cobbles, and linedwith white houses, where in the doorways sat women spinning and weavingwool.

  As the Greek approached the Acropolis, he admired the cyclopean walls ofgreat stones laid with rare art, solidly fitted without mortar-joints.Here was the cradle of the city, relic of the companions of Zacynthusas they established themselves among the rude indigenes.

  He passed through a long archway, and found himself on the extensiveesplanade upon the eminence, surrounded by ramparts which could sheltera population as great as Saguntum. On this immense plain, scattered atrandom, rose the public buildings, recalling the epoch when the citystood on the summit and had not yet descended, spreading toward the sea.From its walls one could take in the immensity of the fertile domain,the territories belonging to the Republic, reaching out of sight to thesouth along the shore toward the boundary of the lands occupied by theOlcades; the innumerable villages and estates, grouped on the banks ofthe Baetis-Perkes, and the city opening like a great white fan down theslope of the mount, enclosed by walls over which the close-packed housesseemed to spring and scatter through the orchards.

  Actaeon, turning his gaze toward the enclosed quarter of the Acropolis,noticed the temple of Hercules; near it the portico on which the Senategathered; the mint where money was coined; the temple where the treasureof the Republic was stored; the arsenal where the citizens were armed;the barracks of the mercenaries; and, dominating all these buildings,the tower of Hercules, an enormous cyclopean structure which at nightanswered with its lights to the _speculae_ on the shore and on the hillsaround the port, spreading alarm or giving tranquility throughout thewhole of the Saguntine territory. In another quarter a band of slaves,directed by a Grecian artist, was putting the final touches on a smalltemple which Sonnica the rich was having raised on the Acropolis inhonor of Minerva.

  The Saguntines who were climbing up to the citadel for a quiet stroll,proudly viewing their city and taking a look at the mercenaries who wereburnishing their swords and their bronze cuirasses at the doors of theirbarracks, glanced curiously at the Greek.

  A prosperous looking Saguntine, wrapped in a red toga in Roman fashion,and leaning on a long staff, approached to speak to him. He was a middleaged man, strong, with gray hair and beard, and a kindly expression inhis eyes and in his smile.

  "Tell me, Greek," he asked sweetly, "why have you come hither? Are you amerchant? Are you a navigator? Do you seek for your country the silverwhich the Celtiberians bring us?"

  "No, I am a poor man wandering about the world, and I have come to offermyself to the Republic as a soldier."

  The Saguntine made a gesture of distress.

  "I should have guessed it by the arm which serves you as a staff....Soldiers! Always soldiers! In other times not a sword nor a dart couldbe seen in the city. Foreigners used to come in ships loaded withmerchandise; they took what we had, and in return they gave us what theybrought, and we lived in that peace of which the poets sing. But now,those who come, whether Greek or Roman, African or Asiatic, presentthemselves armed; ferocious dogs who come to offer themselves as guardsfor the flock which used to frolic in peace without fear of enemies. AsI behold all this warlike preparation, as I contemplate the youths ofSaguntum rejoicing and boasting over their recent expedition againstthe Turdetani, I tremble for the city and the fate in store for mypeople. To-day we are the strongest, but will not someone come strongerthan we, and clap upon our necks the chains of slavery?"

  Over the top of the walls he looked down at the city with tendersolicitude.

  "Stranger," he continued, "my name is Alcon, and my friends call me 'thePrudent.' The old men of the Senate give heed to my counsels; but theyoung men will not listen to them. I have been a merchant, I have runover the world, I have a wife and children maintained in comfortablecircumstances, and I am convinced that peace means felicity for thepeople and should be maintained at any cost."

  "I am Actaeon, a son of Athens. I used to be a navigator, but my shipswere wrecked. I was a trader, but I lost my fortune. Mercury and Neptunehave ever treated me like harsh and merciless fathers. I have enjoyedmuch, I have suffered still more, and to-day, almost a beggar, I comehere to sell my blood and brawn."

  "You do wrong, Athenian. You are a man, and you seek to turn yourselfinto a wolf. Do you know what I most admire in your race?... that youjest at Hercules and at his deeds; that you worship Pallas Athene! Youscorn force, and you worship intelligence and the arts of peace."

  "The strong arm is as valuable as the head in which Zeus kindled thedivine spark."

  "Yes, but that arm impels the head to death."

  Actaeon was impatient at Alcon's words.

  "Do you know Mopsus the archer?"

  "There he is, near the temple of Hercules. You may recognize him by hisweapons, which he never lays aside. He is another of those who drewhither the evil spirit of war."

  "Farewell, Alcon."

  "May the gods protect you, Athenian!"

  Actaeon recognized the valorous Greek by his bow and by the quiverhanging from his shoulders. He was a robust, long-bearded man, who worebound around his gray locks a bull's tendon to renew the one whichserved to string his bow. His strong muscular arms revealed in theelasticity of their sinews the high tension to which they were subjectedin bending the strong bow and in shooting the arrows.

  He welcomed Actaeon with the sympathetic respect which the Atheniansinspired in the island-Greeks.

  "I will speak to the Senate," he said, on learning Actaeon's aspirations."My word will be sufficient to have you received among the mercenarieswith all merited distinction. Tell me more about your militaryexploits."

  "I have made war in Lacedaemon, under the orders of Cleomenes."

  "A famous captain! The renown of the deeds of the Spartan king has evenreached these shores. What news of him?"

  "I left him when, conquered but not mastered, he took refuge inAlexandria. There he dwelt as an exile under the protection of Ptolemy;but, according to what I heard not long ago in New Carthage, he got intotrouble through a palace intrigue. The Egyptian monarch ordered hisexecution, and Cleomenes, with his twelve companions, died fighting.When he fell, a pile of corpses lay before him."

  "Worthy end for a hero! Where did you learn the military art?"

  "I began in Sicily and Carthage, in the camps of the mercenaries, and Ifinished my education in the Prytaneum of Athens. My father was Lysias,captain in the service of Hamilcar, put to death afterwards by theCarthaginians in their war with the mercenaries, which is called the'Inexpiable War.'"

  "Famous schools, and an excellent father! His name also came to my earsin the epoch when I was running over the world, before taking service inSaguntum. You are welcome, Actaeon! If you wish to enlist in thehoplites, you shall figure in the first rank of the phalanx with theheavy armor and the long spear. But, no, you Athenians prefer to fightlight-armed. You are more to be feared in the onset than on account ofthe force of your blows. You shall be a peltast, with javelin and lightshield; you shall fight unhampered, and surely great deeds will berelated of you."

  Some old m
en whom the archer greeted respectfully passed near.

  "Those are senators," Mopsus said, "assembling because it is market day.Many of them come from their villas on the public domain, and ride up tothe Acropolis in their litters. They meet on that portico."

  Actaeon saw them taking their seats on wooden chairs with curvedclaw-legs supporting the head of the Nemean lion. Their countenances anddress denoted the great diversity of races existing in the city. The menof Iberian origin came from their country-houses, bearded, grimy, withlinen cuirass lined with heavy wool, a two-edged short sword hangingfrom the shoulder, and a hat of hardened leather equivalent to a helmet.The Grecian merchants presented themselves with faces shaven, wrapped inwhite chlamys, from which the right arm emerged bare; a fillet was boundaround the hair in fashion of a crown, and they were leaning on longstaves tipped by the design of a pine cone. They resembled the kings ofthe Iliad gathered before Troy.

  Actaeon noted among them a giant with black beard and short curling hairwhich lay around his head like a mitre of wool. His enormous limbs, withprotuberant muscles and elastic sinews which seemed bursting withstrength, peeped from below the openings of the red mantle in which hewas wrapped.

  "That is Theron," said the bowman, "the great priest of Hercules; aprodigious man, who could conquer a crown in the Olympic games. He killsa bull with a single blow on its neck."

  Again the Greek thought he recognized among the people gathered near theSenate portico, the Celtiberian shepherd, studying intently the giganticpriest of Hercules; but the archer addressed Actaeon, compelling him toturn his gaze away.

  "The council is about to sit, and I must be at the foot of the stepsawaiting orders. Go, Actaeon, and tarry for me in the Forum. There youwill find my boy. Did you not say that you met him on the road? No doubthe was with that slave girl who herds Sonnica's goats. Don't hesitate,Actaeon; don't tell a falsehood. I guess it. Ah, that boy! That vagabond,who, instead of working, races through the fields like a fugitiveslave!"

  In spite of the grievousness with which the archer complained, a thrillof tenderness was observable in his accent, the note of preference overhis other sons for that wandering and capricious artist who oftenabandoned the paternal roof to roam about the port and through themountains for weeks at a time.

  The two Greeks bade each other adieu, and Actaeon returned to the Forum,not without thinking that he saw again, strolling about the Acropolis,the mysterious Celtiberian shepherd. As he entered the porticos he heardhisses and shouting; the crowds were agitated, laughing and jeering;people rushed from the barber-shops and perfumeries. The Greek saw agroup of luxuriously dressed young men passing with scornful smilesregardless of the tempest of hisses and sarcasm raised by theirpresence.

  They were the gallants of Saguntum; the rich youths who imitated thefashions of the Athenian aristocracy, exaggerated by distance and bytheir lack of taste. Actaeon also smiled, with the cynical smile of anAthenian, as he observed the crudeness with which these young fopscopied their distant models.

  At their head strode Lachares, the gallant who had accompanied Sonnicaon her morning visit to the temple of Venus. They were dressed intransparent cloth of screaming colors and subtle weave, disclosing thebody, like the tunics worn by the hetaerae at banquets. Their cheeks,carefully plucked free of hair, were tinted with soft vermilion and theeyes were enlarged with black lines. The hair, curled, and perfumed withfragrant ointments, was confined by a fillet. Some wore large hoops ofgold in their ears, and hidden bracelets jingled as they walked. Otherswere indolently leaning on the shoulders of small slave boys with whitebacks, and with hair hanging in heavy curls, resembling girls in theplumpness of their forms. As if deaf to the insults and sarcasms of thepeople, they talked with affected serenity of some Greek verses whichone of them had composed; they discussed their merit, the manner ofaccompanying them with the lyre, and only stopped to caress the cheeksof their small slaves or to greet acquaintances, well pleased at heartover the scandal their presence caused in the Forum.

  "Do not tell me that they imitate the Greeks," shouted an old man withmalicious face, clad in the patched and filthy mantle of an unemployedpedagogue. "The fire of the gods shall be hurled upon the city. It istrue that in a moment of emotion our father Zeus carried off thebeautiful Ganymede; but how about Leda and all the innumerable beautiestouched by the fire of the Lord of Olympus? A fine place the world wouldbe if men were to imitate the gods and were to behave as do these fools,dressing themselves like women! Do you wish to see a Greek? Well, thereis one for you. That is a true son of Hellas."

  He pointed to Actaeon, who found himself the target for curious glancesfrom the assembled people.

  "How you must laugh, stranger, at seeing those miserable creatures whostupidly believe they are copying your country," the beggarly phreneticcontinued shouting. "I am a philosopher; do you know that? The onlyphilosopher in Saguntum, and by the same token you will guess that theseungrateful people are quite willing to let me starve to death. As ayoung man I lived in Athens; I attended the schools; I gave up the lifeof a mariner, and ceased running over the world, to seek truth withinmyself. I have invented nothing, but I know all that man has said aboutthe soul and the world, and if you wish I will recite from memory entireparagraphs from Socrates and Plato, and all the answers of the greatDiogenes. I know your country, and I am ashamed of my city when I seesuch fools as those. Do you know who is to blame for these follies thatdishonor us? Sonnica, that Sonnica whom they call 'the rich,' anold-time courtesan who will succeed in making Saguntum a reproach,destroying the traditions of the city, and the simple, healthful customsof other times."

  On hearing the name of Sonnica a murmur of protest arose from the group.

  "Do you see?" shouted the philosopher, becoming more abusive. "They areadulatory slaves who tremble at the truth. The name of Sonnica producesin them the same effect as that of a goddess. Do you see that onerunning away? Well, not long ago Sonnica lent his father a great sumwithout interest, that he might buy wheat in Sicily, and so he thinks hemust run away from any place where things are said against her. See thatone turning his back? The courtesan freed his father, who was a slave,and he does not wish to hear anything said that might annoy Sonnica. Andthese others, who are more valiant, and remain staring as if they woulddevour me, have all received favors from her, and would like to beat mefor my words as they have done before. They are slaves who defend her asif she were a beneficent divinity. There are many others like them inSaguntum, and that is why the magistrates dare not punish that Grecianwoman, who with her mad extravagances scandalizes the city. Come, beatme, shopkeepers! Beat the only one in Saguntum who does not lie!"

  The crowd slunk away, leaving the philosopher shaking his fist andhurling epithets of indignation.

  "What you ought to do," said one of the latter scornfully as he retired,"is to show more gratitude. If you ever get anything to eat, it is atSonnica's table."

  "I shall eat to-night, then!" shouted the philosopher insolently. "Andwhat do you prove by that? I will tell her to her face the same that Isay here! And she will laugh as usual, while you will be eating swill inyour houses and thinking of her banquet!"

  "Ingrate! Parasite!" exclaimed the man, turning his back contemptuously.

  "Gratitude is the condition of the dog. Man shows his superiority byspeaking ill of those who favor him. If you do not wish Euphobias thephilosopher to be a parasite, maintain him in exchange for his wisdom."

  By this time Euphobias was talking to empty space. They had all left,and had mingled with the moving crowd on the street. Only Actaeonremained, examining him with interest, as if marveling at finding in afar-away city a man so like those who in Athens swarmed about theAcademy, forming a class of hungry and obscure philosophic plebs.

  The parasite, seeing himself with no other audience than the Greek,caught him by the arm.

  "You alone deserve to hear me. One can easily perceive that you are from_there_, and that you know how to distinguish merit."

  "
Who is that Sonnica whose customs so anger you? Do you know the storyof her life?" asked the Athenian, desirous of hearing the history of awoman who seemed to fill the whole city with her name.

  "Do I know it? A thousand times she has told me in her hours ofmelancholy and weariness, which out-number all the rest. When I cannotmanage to make her laugh with my wit, when she feels the need ofun-burdening her mind, then she tells of her past with as much abandonas though she were talking to a dog; but it is a long story."

  The philosopher paused and winked one eye, pointing to a door near athand, within which was a perforated counter holding a row of amphorae.

  "We shall be more comfortable in Fulvius' house. He is a most honorableRoman who swears that he has quarreled with water. Day before yesterdayhe received a famous wine from Laurona. I smell its perfume even here."

  "I have not a single obolus in my pouch."

  The philosopher sniffed as if inhaling the vapor of the new wine, andmade a gesture of disappointment. Then he looked at the Greekaffectionately.

  "You are worthy to hear me; poor, like myself, surrounded by thesemerchants who stock their vaults with silver! Since there is to be nowine for us, let us take a walk. That clears the brain. I will treat youas Aristotle treated his favorite pupils."

  Strolling along the portico Euphobias began to relate what he knew ofSonnica's life.

  She was believed to have been born in Cyprus, the isle beloved ofmariners. On those shores where the poets made the triumphant beauty ofAphrodite spring from the foam, the women of the island run by night insearch of mariners to offer themselves in memory of the goddess. Sonnicawas the fruit of one such alligation with a rower. She vaguelyrecollected the early years of her childhood, running about the deck ofa ship, springing from one bank of rowers to another, fed and scornedlike the cats on shipboard, visiting many ports populated by peoplediverse in dress, customs, and language, but seeing it all from afar,and vaguely, like images in a dream, never setting foot on terra firma.

  Before she became a woman she was the mistress of the owner of the ship,a pilot from Samos, who, grown tired of her, or tempted by money, soldher one night to a Boeotian who maintained a _dicterion_ in thePiraeus. She was not yet twelve years of age, and little Sonnicaattracted special attention among the _dicteriadai_ who swarmed by nightin the Piraeus, the chief centre of Athenian prostitution.

  The floating population of the city, composed of foreigners, gamblers,and young men thrown out of their homes by severe fathers, congregatedin that suburb of Athens which surrounded the ports of the Piraeus andPhalerum and formed the deme of Estiron. No sooner had night closed inthan the whole noisy and corrupt world gathered in the great square inthe Piraeus, between the citadel and the port, and prostitutes began tocirculate, who with the coming of the shadows, were privileged to leavethe _dicteria_ in which they had been confined. On the porticos aroundthe square the gamblers shook dice, wandering philosophers argued,vagabonds slept, mariners told of their voyages, and through thisconfusion of diverse peoples passed the _dicteriadai_, with paintedfaces, almost nude, or wearing striped mantles of vivid colors whichrevealed an African or Asiatic origin. There the young daughter ofCyprus grew up and became acquainted with the world, seeking each nightsome wheat merchant from Bithynia, or some exporter of hides from MagnaGraecia, rude and merry people, who, before returning to their nativelands wished to spend some of their earnings on the courtesans ofAthens. By day she was a prisoner in the _dicterion_, a house of sordidaspect, without other ornamentation on the facade than an enormousphallus which served the establishment as a sign, the door standing openat all hours without the chained dog customary at other dwellings, anddisplaying, immediately the heavy curtain was raised, an open courtyard,in which, near the entrance to the rooms, squatting or lying on thepavement, were all the wares of the house, women worn and consumed bythe fires of concupiscence and girls barely arrived at puberty. All werenude, the dark and velvety skin of the Egyptians contrasting with thepale countenance of the Greeks and the white and silky flesh of theAsiatics.

  Sonnica, who was at that time called Myrrhina, wearied of the life ofthe _dicterion_. All the women there were slaves whom the Boeotianbeat when they allowed a customer to leave discontented. It disgustedher to take the two oboli stipulated by the laws of Solon from thosecalloused hands which wounded as they caressed, and she was nauseated bythe dirty, brutal people from all the countries in the world who came insearch of pleasure, and went away surfeited, being immediately replacedby another and another, like an incessant surging of desires excited bythe solitude of the sea, repeating similar caprices and identicaldemands.

  One night she visited for the last time the temple of Venus Pandemosraised by Solon in the great square of the Piraeus, and deposited anobolus as her final offering before the statues of Venus and hercompanion Peitho, the two divinities of the courtesans, before whom shewent many times with her lemans of the moment, before giving herselfup to them on the seashore or near the long wall constructed byThemistocles to unite the port with Athens. Then she fled toward thecity, eager for liberty and joy, wishing to become one of those Athenianhetaerae whose luxury and beauty she had admired from afar.

  She lived like the free, poor courtesans whom the Athenian youths called"she-wolves" on account of their howling. At first she spent whole dayswithout eating, but she considered herself more happy than her formercompanions of the port of Phalerum, or in the district of Estiron,slaves of the masters of the _dicteria_. Her market now was theCerameicus, a large district of Athens, along the wall between the gatesof the Cerameicus and the Dipylon, in which were the garden of theAcademy and the tombs of the illustrious citizens who had died for theRepublic. By day the great _hetaerae_ went or sent their slaves to see iftheir names were written in charcoal on the wall of the Cerameicus. TheAthenian who desired a courtesan would write her name, with the sumoffered, and if this were to the liking of the hetaera she tarried nearthe inscription until the coming of the favored proponent. In broaddaylight the great courtesans appeared there, almost nude, wearingpurple sandals, wrapped in flowered mantles, wearing crowns of freshroses on their hair, powdered with gold. The poets, the rhetoricians,the artists, the distinguished citizens strolled through the greengroves of the Cerameicus or along the porticos adorned with statues,chatting with the courtesans, having to rack their brains to keep evenwith their repartee.

  When night came on an irruption of wretched, ragged women filled thepromenade, dispersing among the tombs of the renowned dead. It consistedof the dregs of Athenian gayety which lived in liberty under cover ofthe darkness--old courtesans who, trusting in the night, came out toconquer bread in the same place where in other times they had reignedwith the power of beauty; fugitive _dicteriadai_, slave women who hadrun away from their owners for a few hours, and women of the plebsseeking alleviation of their poverty. Hiding behind the tombs, among theclumps of laurels, they remained as motionless as sphinxes, and scarcelydid the steps of a man disturb the silence of the Cerameicus, than fromall sides arose faint howls calling to the new arrival. Frequently theyfled in mad race on recognizing the official whose duty it was tocollect the _pornikontelos_, a tax imposed by Solon upon the courtesansand one which constituted the largest revenue of Athens. At midnight thepasser-by crossing the Cerameicus on his return from a banquet, wouldhear around him the rustle and whispering of an invisible world whichseemed to sweep over the turf and the gleaming sand. The poets jestinglyaverred that the ghosts of the great departed were groaning in theircapacious tombs.

  Thus Myrrhina lived until she was fifteen, spending the night in theCerameicus and the day in the hut of an old woman of Thessaly who, incommon with all her countrywomen enjoyed great fame as a witch, andassisted at births as well as sold love-philters, and retouched thefaces of those who were fading.

  Innumerable things the little _lupa_ learned at the side of the oldwoman, bony and ugly as a Parca! She helped her grind the white leadwhich, mixed with isinglass, filled the wrinkles of the face; sh
eprepared the bean flour to anoint the breasts and abdomen, to make theskin tight and elastic; she filled little flasks with antimony to givebrilliancy to the eyes; she made a liquid preparation of carmine forcoloring with light touches the paste-filled wrinkles, and she listenedwith profound attention to the wise counsels with which the old womaninstructed her pupils, so that they might show off their particularcharms to the best advantage and hide their defects. The old Thessalianadvised the girls with plump bodies to use cork soles inside theirshoes, and the tall ones to wear light sandals, and to shrink theirheads down between their shoulders; she made pads for the thin,whalebone corsets for the stout, she stained the gray hair with soot,and those who had good teeth she obliged to carry a stalk of myrtlebetween their lips, counseling them to smile at the slightest word.

  The young girl possessed the old witch's confidence to such an extentthat she assisted her in the most dangerous part of her science, theconfection of love-philters and the making of charms, which had morethan once caused her to be prosecuted by the officials of the Areopagus.The richest hetaerae consulted her about their desires and revenges, andshe gave them the benefit of her knowledge. To accomplish the impotenceof a man or the sterility of a woman, it was only necessary to give thema glass of wine in which a barbel had been stewed; to attract aforgetful lover a cake of unleavened dough was burned in a fire made ofbranches of thyme and laurel; and to convert love into hatred it wasonly necessary to follow the man, stepping in his tracks the oppositeway, placing the right foot where he had put his left, and murmuring atthe same time: "I am upon you, I step on you." If one wished to cause asatiated lover to return, the old woman rolled a bronze ball which shecarried in her bosom, asking Venus to cause the lover to roll in overthe threshold of the door in the same manner, and if the conjuryproduced no effect, the wax image of the person beloved was thrown intothe brazier while asking the gods to melt the frozen heart with loveeven as the figure melted. With these enchantments, accompanied bymysterious invocations, went philters composed of aphrodisiacs andexciting herbs, which frequently led to death.

  One moonlight spring night Myrrhina had an adventure in the Cerameicus,which resulted in her abandoning the den of the Thessalian. Seatedbehind a tomb, her howl soft as a lament attracted a man wrapped in awhite mantle. By the brilliancy of his eyes and the insecurity of hisstep he seemed to be intoxicated. He wore on his head a crown ofwithered roses.

  Myrrhina divined that he was a distinguished citizen coming from abanquet. It was the poet Simalion, a young aristocrat who had won acrown in the Olympian games, and in whom Athens saw revived theinspiration of Anacreon. The richest hetaerae sang his verses at banquetsto the music of the lyre, and virtuous dames murmured them in thesolitude of the gynaeceum, flushing with emotion. The most famousbeauties of Athens contended for the poet, and he, already an invalid inhis young manhood, and unable to resist the strain of worldly adoration,took refuge in the temple of AEsculapius when the cough compelled him tospit blood; he went on a pilgrimage to the healing springs throughoutGreece and the islands; and no sooner did he begin to feel stronger,with new blood surging through his veins, than, scorning the doctors, hebegan once more the round of banqueting with business men and artists ofAttica, in company with famous hetaerae and genteel Cyprians, rolling fromthe arms of one to another; paying for the caresses with verses whichthe city afterward repeated; ever ardent, and consuming his life likethe torch which at the nocturnal feasts of Dionysus was passed by thechain of bacchantes from hand to hand until lost in the infinite.

  Coming from one of these orgies he met Myrrhina, and contemplating inthe moonlight her youthful beauty, undimmed and almost childlike therein a place frequented by the filthy _lupas_, he raised his hand to hiseyes as if he feared he were being deceived by the aberrations ofintoxication. This must be Psyche with those firm, harmoniously curvingbreasts, round as cups; with those correct and gentle outlines whichwould have been the despair of sculptors at the Academy. The poetexperienced the same satisfaction as when, after hours of solitaryplodding along the wall of Themistocles from Athens to the port, he hitupon the culminating verse of an ode.

  She started to drag him to the old Thessalian's hut, but Simalion,dazzled by the marble flesh which seemed to shine through the rags, tookher to his beautiful residence on the Street of Tripods, and thereMyrrhina remained like a lady, with slaves and luxurious garments.

  This caprice of the poet astounded all Athens. In the Agora and in theCerameicus they talked of nothing but Simalion's new love. They marveledat the rescue of a precious stone, forgotten and lost in the sands,which suddenly shone forth on the forehead of a grandee.

  The great hetaerae, who had never succeeded in making complete conquest ofthe fickle poet, were amazed at seeing him devotedly attached to a younggirl from a _dicterion_, who was remembered by many adventurers in thePiraeus. He took her out in his chariot, driving three horses withclose-cropped manes, and to all the great feasts in the temples ofAttica; in the morning he composed verses in her honor, and he awoke herby reciting them, while he flung a shower of rose petals upon her couch.He gave banquets to his artist friends that he might revel in their envyand admiration, when, at their conclusion, he had her exhibit herselfnude upon the table, in all the magnificence of that perfect beautywhich aroused a religious emotion in the Greeks.

  Faithful to Simalion from gratitude at first, and finally enamored ofthe poet and of his works, Myrrhina adored him as teacher as well aslover. In a short time she learned to play the lyre, to recite verses inall the known styles, she read in her lover's library so diligently thatshe was able to hold her own among the guests at the banquets ofartists, and was invited out among the most brilliant hetaerae of Athens.

  Simalion, constantly growing more enthusiastic over his beloved,dissipated his fortune and his life. He ordered for her from Asiatransparent mantles embroidered with fantastic flowers, through whichshone her pearly flesh; gold dust to sprinkle upon her hair, making herlike the goddesses, which the poets and artists of Greece always paintedblonde; he charged the navigators to buy roses in Egypt of marvelousfreshness. He was steadily growing more emaciated, his skin more pallid,and his gaze glowing with fever, coughing and lying in the arms of hismistress, his strength slipping away.

  Thus two years passed, until one autumn afternoon, stretched on the lawnin his garden, his head resting on the knees of his beautiful inamorata,he heard his verses sung for the last time by the clear voice ofMyrrhina, accompanied by the fluttering of her white fingers over thechords of the lyre. The setting sun caused Minerva's lance aloft by theParthenon, dominating the city, to glow like a coal of fire; his boyishhand could scarce sustain the golden cup of honey and wine. He made aneffort to kiss his mistress; the roses which crowned him fell apart,covering Myrrhina's breast with a shower of petals, and, uttering aplaint like that of a woman, he closed his eyes, falling upon thatbreast where he had lavished the last strength of his life.

  The young girl wept for him with the desperation of a widow. She cut hersplendid hair to lay it as an offering upon his tomb. She put aside herdazzling costumes, she dressed in dark wool like the Athenian women ofvirtuous homes, and remained in retirement in her house, which she keptclosed and silent as a gynaeceum.

  The necessity of living, of maintaining the luxury to which she hadbecome accustomed, of keeping a chariot and slaves and grooms, forcedher, however, to consider her beauty, and the most celebrated hetaeraebecame alarmed at the new rival. Covered with a dark red wig to hide thetonsure of mourning, wrapped in fine veils from which her throat emergedadorned with pearls, her fresh and alabastrine arms loaded to theshoulders with bracelets, she showed herself at an upper window of herhouse with the grave majesty of a goddess awaiting veneration. Therichest men of Athens paused by night in the Street of Tripods to gazeat the poet's widow, as the women in the Ceramaeicus sarcastically calledher. Some, more daring, or tremulous with desire, raised the indexfinger in mute question; but vainly they awaited her affirmativereply--the customary s
igil of the hetaerae, touching thumb to index fingeras it were an annulus.

  Few managed to gain entrance to the famous courtesan's house. Theygrumbled that some nights, in moments of tedium, she had opened her doorto young students who were modeling their first statues in the gardensof the Academy, or reciting their unrenowned verses to the idle in theAgora--youths who could only afford to spend on pleasures a few oboli,or at most a drachma. On the other hand the rich, who offered goldenstateres or several minae to enter the house, were considered too poor towin favor. The old courtesans whispered into one another's ears, with adegree of respect, that a petty Asiatic king, on passing through Athens,had given Myrrhina two talents for one visit--as much as any republic inGreece would spend in a year--and that the beautiful hetaera, unmoved bysuch a fortune, had suffered his presence only while her clepsydraemptied itself once, for, tired of men, she measured prurience by herwater-clock.

  Fabulously rich merchants, on arriving at the Piraeus, sought access toMyrrhina's house through the good offices of friends. They heapedpresents upon the vagabond artists who were the courtesan's familiars,that they might be admitted to her suppers; and more than one, arrivingat the port with a fleet loaded with rich merchandise, hastened to selleverything without waiting to discharge his cargo, so that he might stayin the poet's house; and he returned to his country with the help ofcharity, content with his poverty when he saw the envy and respect whichhe inspired among his companions.

  Thus she met Bomaro, a young Iberian merchant from Zacynthus, who hadcome to Athens with three ships laden with hides. The courtesan wasattracted by his sweetness, which contrasted with the rudeness of theother merchants brutalized by their contact with the great ports. Hespoke little and blushed, as if the silence of his long stays at sea hadgiven him the timidity of a virgin. If she forced him to relate hisadventures as a navigator he did so with simplicity, without mentioningthe dangers he encountered. He displayed particularly a childishadmiration for Grecian culture.

  Myrrhina, during the supper at which she saw him for the first time,surprised his eyes fixed on her with the expression of tenderness andrespect of one gazing at a goddess impossible of possession. Thenavigator, reared among barbarians, in a remote colony scarcelyretaining traces of its mother Greece, began to interest the courtesanmore than the young Athenians and opulent merchants who surrounded her.Tremulous and hesitant he craved the grace of a single night, and spentit near her with more admiration than enjoyment, adoring her regalbeauty, thrilled by her voice, put to sleep by it like a warm maternallullaby, accompanied by the lyre.

  When he awoke he begged to turn over to her the entire product of hiscargo; but Myrrhina, hardly knowing why, refused to accept it, in spiteof his urging. He was rich; he had no parents; far away in that land ofbarbarians he possessed immense flocks, hundreds of slaves whocultivated his fields or worked in his mines; great potteries, and manyships like the three which awaited him in the Piraeus; and seeing thatthe courtesan, with kindly smile, treated him like a generous boy,declining to accept his money, he bought in the Street of the Goldsmithsa prodigious collar of pearls, the despair of the hetaerae, and sent it toMyrrhina before he left the city.

  Afterwards he came back many times. He could not decide to return to hiscountry. He set sail with his flotilla, but in the next port he took ona cargo for Athens, paying no regard to the price, and scarcely came toanchor in the Piraeus before he rushed to the courtesan's house, norcould resolve to leave until he suspected Myrrhina's weariness of hispresence.

  The courtesan finally became accustomed to this submissive lover, everat her feet, who was ready to die for her, showing his adoration withthe fervor of a foreigner, so different from the cynical and mockingcourtesy of the Athenians. She called him "little brother," and thisword, which the hetaerae used with young lovers, gradually took on herlips a warmth of sincere affection. When he was delayed in returningfrom the islands she longed for his presence, and when she saw him atthe door she ran to him with outstretched arms, in a transport of joysuch as her other friends never witnessed.

  She did not love him as she had loved the poet, but the earnest humilityof Bomaro, his respectful and docile love, so different from the ardorshe inspired in others, moved Myrrhina to a sentiment of gratitude.

  One night, the Iberian, who seemed preoccupied, ventured after muchvacillation to express his inner thought.

  He could not live without her; he would never return alone to Zacynthus;he was resolved to abandon his fortune rather than never to see hermore. He would sooner be a stevedore on the wharf at Phalerum; andfinally, like one who makes a dash to more quickly overcome an obstacle,he abruptly proposed to make her his wife, turning his fortune over toher, and to take her to smiling Zacynthus with its flowery fields andits rose-colored mountains, so like those of Attica.

  Myrrhina smiled while listening to him and her heart was touched by theaffectionate self-abnegation of the Iberian who, to unite with herforever, was willing to overlook a shameful past in the _dicterion_ andin the Cerameicus. She rejected his proposals with an ironical smile;but Bomaro was persistent. Was she not tired of her mode of life, ofseeing herself flattered as a thing of great price, but often scorned bycoarse creatures who thought they made themselves her masters by merelyoffering their gold? Would she not like to be a sovereign on the coastsof Iberia, surrounded by people who would admire her Athenianattainments?

  Bomaro conquered her by his loving determination, and one day Athensbeheld with surprise that the house on the Street of Tripods was sold,and that Myrrhina's slaves were carrying to the port the riches gatheredduring three years of mad fortune, loading them in the ships of theIberian who had unfurled from the masts his purple sails for a triumphalvoyage.

  Myrrhina, in her desire to propitiate him who gave himself up to her socompletely, wished to leave her whole past behind. She proposed to be anew woman, to put away her sinister cognomen, and begging Bomaro torepeat the most beautiful names of the Iberian women, she chose that ofSonnica as the most pleasing to her ears.

  Arrived at Zacynthus, the navigator and the Greek woman were married inthe temple of Diana before all the Senate, of which the young man washimself a member.

  The city felt the effects of the charm which seemed to emanate from theperson of Sonnica. She was like a breath from distant Athens, whichfascinated the Greek merchants in Saguntum, grown slack by their longstay among uncultured foreigners.

  At the banquets, at the hour of sweet wines, when she sang the hymns ofthe great masters, the Saguntine youths from the ward of the Greeks wereimpelled to fall at her feet and adore her as a goddess. After beingmarried a year Bomaro realized in the growth of his fortune theassistance of the woman, who, in changing her environment, began tointerest herself in material things through her desire to prove herworth before the noble dames who gossipped about her.

  She watched the work in the fields, took note of the great flocks, andthe potteries; she went to the port to greet the arrival of the ships;and Bomaro's enormous fortune increased. Excellent results followed thebusiness ventures which she counseled, as she lay in the shade of aclump of laurel in her garden, speaking in a slow harmonious voice,caressed by a feather fan in the hands of a slave.

  Bomaro, the days of more ardent love-making ended, sailed along thecoasts of Iberia, his mind free from business cares, and desirous ofadding to the fortune which Sonnica administered so well. She hadsurrounded herself by a court of youths who treated her as apreceptress. The young Greeks born in Saguntum flocked about her tolearn the manners and customs of Athens, which was their perpetualdream. The evil tongues in the city called her Sonnica the Cyprian, butthe plebs who were the recipients of her charity, and the smallmerchants who never appealed to her without result, entitled her Sonnicathe rich, and they were ready to fight those who spoke ill of her.

  One winter, four years after their marriage, Bomaro perished byshipwreck near the Pillars of Hercules, and Sonnica found herself inabsolute possession of an immense fortune, and mistr
ess of a whole city,over which she reigned by virtue of her riches and of her kindness ofheart. She freed slaves in memory of the unfortunate navigator, she sentcostly offerings to all the temples in Saguntum, she raised on theAcropolis a cenotaph in memory of Bomaro, summoning marble-workers fromAthens for this purpose. By her charities she won consideration,bringing this city of sturdy and austere customs to tolerate her bright,mirth-loving existence, which was a perpetuation of Athenian manners inthe midst of Iberic sobriety.

  Having passed the period of mourning, she gave suppers in hercountry-house which lasted until dawn. She brought famous auletai fromAttica who set the Saguntine youths wild with their flutes. She sentships on voyages with no other commercial object than to bring rareperfumes from Asia, fabrics from Egypt, and unique adornments fromCarthage; and her fame extended so far into the interior that kingletsfrom Celtiberia were drawn to Saguntum to behold that wonderful woman,as wise as a priestess, and as beautiful as a divinity. The Greeksadmired her, observing that she strengthened the prestige of their raceamong the primitive Saguntines, who were lavish with eulogy of herdisinterestedness. Thus she lived! No women entered her house, none butflute-players, dancers, and slaves; she was surrounded by men whoyearned for her, but she held herself aloof, and treated them all with amasculine but distant intimacy. She was ever thinking of Athens theluminous, the city which held so many memories, and many of whosecustoms she sought to revive.

  Euphobias the philosopher, as he reached this point in his story,stoutly declared that Sonnica's life in Saguntum was above reproach, inspite of what the Greek women of the district of the merchants said. Hehimself, who possessed the bitterest tongue in the city, affirmed it.Several times she had been attracted toward some guest at her dinners.Alorcus, the scion of a petty king of Celtiberia, who lived in Saguntumand frequented her house, had made an impression upon her with his wild,virile beauty, as a son of the mountains; but Sonnica held him back,plainly fearing to take the step and unite herself with one of abarbarous race. The memory of Attica wholly occupied her imagination. Ifsome young Athenian had landed on those shores, some youth as beautifulas Alcibiades, singing verses, modeling statues, and displaying skilland dexterity as in the Olympian games, perhaps she might have falleninto his arms, but her emotions were unstirred among the arrogantCeltiberians who came to her feasts smelling of horses and with theirswords girded at their sides, and among the effeminate sons ofmerchants, becurled, and shedding perfumes, caressing their small slaveboys, who accompanied them even in the bath.

  "Athenian," continued the philosopher, "you should present yourself toSonnica. She will receive you kindly. You are not an ephebus," he added,with a mocking smile; "your beard is turning gray, but you have in yourfigure the arrogance of a king in the Iliad; upon your foreheadsomething of the majesty of Socrates; and who knows but that you mayfall heir to Bomaro's riches! If that should come to pass, do not forgetthe poor philosopher. I will be content with a skin of wine fromLaurona, since to-day you condemn me to thirst."

  Euphobias laughed, slapping Actaeon on the shoulder.

  "I am invited to Sonnica's banquet to-night," said the Greek.

  "You, also? Then we shall meet there. I am not invited, but I go withthe same right as a dog belonging to the house."

  The philosopher saw Alcon, the peaceful citizen, who had just come downfrom the Acropolis, pass through the centre of the Forum.

  "There is one of the few good men of this city. He extols virtue to me,he counsels me to go to work, and to forget philosophy, and on top ofall that he never fails to give me something to drink; so farewell untilto-night, stranger."

  He hurried toward Alcon who, leaning on his staff, greeted him with akindly smile.

  Actaeon, finding himself once more alone wandered through the centre ofthe market. Suddenly he heard a youthful voice calling him. It wasRhanto, sitting on the ground among the pitchers which were now empty ofmilk, selling her last cheeses. Near her squatted the young potter. Theywere eating a hard cake with fresh, juicy onions, playfully disputingthe mouthfuls amid merry laughter. The shepherdess offered Actaeon around cake, and the Greek accepted gratefully. He seemed destined toreceive his food in Saguntum from feminine hands. Twice since he landedhe had been succored by women.

  Seated between the young people he saw the market gradually becomedeserted. The shepherds drove their flocks toward the Gate of the Sea;the Celtiberian chiefs, bearing their women behind them on their horses,rode off at a gallop, eager to reach their villages in the mountains;and the empty carts rumbled slowly toward the hamlets and towers in theSaguntine domain.

  Again Actaeon saw the Celtiberian shepherd in the colonnades, moving fromone group of rustics to another, listening to their conversation. As hepassed near the Greek he gazed at him with those enigmatic eyes whichawoke within him shadowy recollections.

  All at once the young potter arose and started to run, hiding behind thecolumns around the Forum.

  "He has seen his father," said Rhanto quietly. "There is Mopsus comingdown from the Acropolis."

  Actaeon advanced to meet the archer.

  "My word has been sufficient to have you received by the Senate. Thecity will soon need good soldiers like yourself. The elders seemedsomewhat alarmed this morning. They fear Hannibal, that young cub ofHamilcar, who now leads the Carthaginians, and who will not calmly brookour friendship with the Romans and the execution of his sympathizers inSaguntum. Here, take this; it is the advance pay which the Republicallows you."

  He tendered Actaeon a handful of coins, which the Greek put into hispouch. Mopsus then invited him to his house to meet his sons and todine; but the Athenian was obliged to plead his previous invitation toSonnica's banquet.

  When the archer had left, Actaeon felt the torment of thirst, and,remembering the philosopher's recommendations, he entered theestablishment of the Roman whose Lauronian wine inspired so muchenthusiasm in Euphobias. At the counter he changed a victoriatus, andwas given a boat-shaped terra cotta patera full of black wine crownedwith iridescent bubbles. Two soldiers were drinking in a corner of thetavern--two rough mercenaries with the faces of bandits. One was anIberian, the other with bronzed skin and athletic frame looked like aLibyan, and his cheeks, calloused by the helmet and his neck and armsfurrowed with cicatrices, denoted the professional paid warrior who hadfought with indifference since childhood, now in the service of onenation and now in that of its adversary.

  "I am in the service of Saguntum," said the Libyan. "These merchants paybetter than those of Carthage. But, believe me, although content to livein this town, I realize that they have done an unlucky thing indispleasing Hannibal. Rome is strong, but Rome is far away, and thatlion's whelp prowls only a few days journey from here. You ought to haveknown him, to have seen him from boyhood as I have done when I wasfighting under the orders of his father Hamilcar! He runs like a mare;he fights as well on foot as on horseback, he eats what there is to behad, or he eats nothing at all; he goes about dressed like a slave; armsare his only luxury; he sleeps on the ground, and often, at daybreak,his father would find him lying among the sentinels of the camp. He isnot content to be told about things, he must see everything with his owneyes, and mix with the enemy to study their weak points close at hand.Often Hasdrubal, his sister's husband, was surprised by seeing an oldbeggar come into his shop, and he would shout with laughter whenHannibal pulled off his wig and his rags, under cover of which he hadbeen spending hours among the enemy."

  Actaeon left the tavern hastily on seeing that Rhanto, after handing herpitchers to a slave who loaded them into a cart, was starting on herwalk toward Sonnica's villa.

  "I will go with you, little one. You shall be my guide to your mistress'house."

  The sun had begun to set. The afternoon light gilded the foliage of thedomain, giving a transparency of amber to the leaves and vines. Alongthe highway through the champaign sounded the bells of the flock, thecreaking of carts, and the sonorous songs of the rustics returning fromthe city.

  They ar
rived at Sonnica's villa, which had the aspect of a town. Theyfirst passed the dwellings of the slaves, where buzzed around thedoorways a swarm of nude children with prominent abdomens, and with theumbilicus protruding like buttons; then the stables, from which floateda warm vapor vibrant with lowing and whinnying; the granaries andfarmhouses; the dwelling of the overseer; the calabooses for rebelliousslaves, with their breathing-holes on a level with the ground; thepigeon-house, a high tower of red brick around which fluttered a cloudof white wings amid incessant cooing; the big straw huts which served toshelter the hundreds of chickens; and, behind this row of buildings, thecountry-seat, Sonnica's villa, which was discussed with admiration evenamong the most remote tribes of Celtiberia. It was surrounded bycypresses and laurels, encircled by walls covered with gnarled grapevines, while rising above the great mass of foliage were itsrose-colored walls with columns and friezes of blue marble and theterrace crowned by polychrome statues with enameled eyes shining in thesun like precious stones.

  Actaeon was silent and preoccupied. Rhanto had been talking to him forfull half an hour without receiving a reply.

  "Look, stranger! All those fields which your eye can see belong toSonnica. See, Greek, how many chickens! Nearly all the eggs used in thecity come from here."

  Actaeon continued oblivious to the objects pointed out by theshepherdess; but just as she rang the bell on the garden gate, and wasanswered from within by the barking of dogs and the sharp cries ofhidden birds, he smote himself nervously on the forehead as if he hadmade a discovery.

  "Now I know who he is!" he exclaimed, as if awaking from a dream.

  "Who?" asked the young girl in surprise.

  "Nobody," he replied with the frigidity of him who fears that he hassaid too much.

  In his own mind, however, he was satisfied with the identification.Recalling the words of the Libyan mercenary, overheard in the tavern,had brought back to his memory that enigmatic figure of the Celtiberianshepherd. Suddenly a light was kindled in his thought.

  Now he knew who it was! For a good reason had he been impressed from thefirst moment by the glance of that unknown man, by the eyes which neverchange in a countenance despite the passing of years. Often had he seenthose eyes in his childhood when his father made war in Sicily withHamilcar, and he himself was being educated in Carthage.

  That shepherd was Hannibal!