Ancient Manners; Also Known As Aphrodite Part 43

Rhodis sat huddled up on the ground, sobbing.

"Chrysis, my Chrysis." pursued Myrtocleia, "but yesterday you were living, and young, and hoping for length of days, and now you are dead, and no power on earth can induce you to speak a word to us. You have closed your eyes, and we were not there. You have suffered and you did not know that we wept for you behind the walls. Your dying eyes looked for someone and did not meet our eyes stricken with sorrow and pity."

The flute-girl wept continually. The singing girl took her by the hand.

Chrysis, my Chrysis, you once told us that one day, thanks to you, we should marry. Our union is one of tears, and sad is the betrothal of Rhodis and Myrtocleia. But sorrow, rather than love, welds together two enclasped hands. Those who have once wept together will never desert one another. We are going to lay your dear body under the ground, Chrysidion, and we will both of us cut off our hair upon your tomb.

She enveloped the beautiful body and then she said to Rhodis:

"Help me."

[Ill.u.s.tration]

They lifted her up gently; but the burden was a heavy one for the little musicians, and they laid it down upon the ground.

"Let us take off our sandals," said Myrto. "Let us walk bare-footed in the corridors. The gaoler is surely asleep. If we do not wake him we shall pa.s.s, but if he sees us he will prevent us . . . To-morrow matters not: when he sees the empty bed, he will say to the Queen's soldiers that he has thrown the body into a ditch, according to the law. Let us fear nothing, Rhodis! . . . Put your sandals in your girdle, like me. And come! Take the body under the knees. Let the feet hang behind. Walk without noise, slowly, slowly . . ."

V

PIETY

After the turning of the second street, they laid the body down a second time in order in put on their sandals. Rhodis's feet, too delicate to walk naked, were torn and bleeding.

The night was full of brilliancy. The town was full of silence. The iron-coloured shadows lay in square blocks in the middle of the streets, according to the profile of the houses.

The little virgins resumed their load.

"Where are we going to?" asked the child. "Where are we going to bury it?"

"In the cemetery of Hermanubis. It is always deserted, it will be in peace there."

"Poor Chrysis! Could I ever have thought that on her last day, I should bear her body without torches and without funeral car, secretly, like a thing stolen."

Then both began to talk volubly as if they were afraid of the silence, cheek by jowl with the corpse. The last day of Chrysis's life filled them with astonishment. Where had she got the mirror, the necklace and the comb? She could not have taken the pearls of the G.o.ddess herself.

The temple was too well guarded for a courtesan to be able to enter it.

Then somebody must have acted for her? But who? She was not known to possess any lover amongst the Stolists to whom the guard of the divine statue was entrusted. And then, if someone had acted for her, why had she not denounced him? And, in any case, why these three crimes? Of what had they availed her, except to deliver her over to punishment? A woman does not commit such follies without an object, unless she be in love?

Was Chrysis in love? and who could it be?

"We shall never know", concluded the flute-player. "She has taken her secret with her, and even if she had an accomplice he would be the last to enlighten us."

At this point, Rhodis, who had been resting for several instants, sighed:

[Ill.u.s.tration: The little virgins resumed their load]

"I cannot carry her any longer, Myrto. I shall fall down on my knees, I am broken with fatigue and grief."

Myrtocleia took her by the neck:

"Try again, my darling. We _must_ carry her. Her nether life is at stake. If she has no sepulture and no obol in her hand, she will roam eternally on the banks of the river of h.e.l.l, and when we in our turn, Rhodis, go down to the dead, she will reproach us with our impiety, and we shall not know what to answer her."

But the child, overcome with weakness, burst into tears.

"Quickly, quickly!" exclaimed Myrtocleia.

"Somebody is coming along the end of the street. Place yourself in front of the body with me. Let us hide it behind our tunics . . . If it is seen, all is lost . . ."

She stooped short.

"It is Timon. I recognise him. Timon with four women. Ah, G.o.ds! what is going to happen? He laughs at everything and will mock us . . . But no, stay here, Rhodis; I will speak to him."

And, inspired by a sudden thought, she ran down the street to meet the little group.

"Timon," she said, and her voice was full of supplication; "Timon, stop.

I have grave words to utter to you alone."

"My poor little thing," said the young man, "how excited you are! Have you lost your shoulder-knot or have you dropped your doll and broken its nose? This would be an irreparable disaster."

The girl threw him a look of anguish; but the four women, Philotis, Seso of Cnidos, Callistion, and Tryphera, were already clamouring round her with impatience.

"Get away, little idiot!" said Tryphera, "if you have dried up your nurse's teats, we cannot help it, we have no milk. It is almost daylight, you ought to be in bed; what business have children to roam about in the moonlight?"

"Her nurse?" said Philotis. "She wants to steal away Timon."

"The whip! She deserves the whip!" said Callistion, who put one arm round Myrto's waist, lifting her off the ground and raising her little blue tunic, But Seso interposed:

"You are mad," she cried. "Myrto has never known a man. If she calls Timon, it is not to sleep with him. Let her alone, and let us have done with it!"

"Come," said Timon, "what do you want with me? Come here. Whisper in my ear. Is it really serious?"

"The body of Chrysis is there, in the street," said the young girl tremblingly. "We are carrying into the cemetary, my little friend and I.

but it is heavy, and we ask you if you will help us. It will not lake long. Immediately afterwards you can rejoin your women . . ."

Timon's look rea.s.sured her.

"Poor girls! To think that I laughed! You are better than we are . . .