LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

      “The Lions will be admirable,” cried Antonius with a glance of pride at his brother. “Nothing like them has been done by any one these ten years, and I know the Alexandrians. If the master’s work is praised that is made out of granite from the Holy Mountain, all the world will have granite from thence and from no where else. It all depends on whether the transport of the stone to the sea can be made less difficult and costly.”

      “Let us try it then,” said Petrus, who during his son’s talk had walked up and down before them in silence. “Let us try the building of the bridge in the name of the Lord. We will work out the road if the municipality will declare themselves ready to bear half the cost; not otherwise, and I tell you frankly, you have both grown most able men.”

      The younger son grasped his father’s hand and pressed it with warm affection to his lips. Petrus hastily stroked his brown locks, then he offered his strong right hand to his eldest-born and said: “We must increase the number of our slaves. Call your mother, Polykarp.” The youth obeyed with cheerful alacrity, and when Dame Dorothea—who was sitting at the loom with her daughter Marthana and some of her female slaves—saw him rush into the women’s room with a glowing face, she rose with youthful briskness in spite of her stout and dignified figure, and called out to her son:

      “He has approved of your plans?”

      “Bridge and all, mother, everything,” cried the young man. “Finer granite for my lions, than my father has picked out for me is nowhere to be found, and how glad I am for Antonius! only we must have patience about the roadway. He wants to speak to you at once.”

      Dorothea signed to her son to moderate his ecstasy, for he had seized her hand, and was pulling her away with him, but the tears that stood in her kind eyes testified how deeply she sympathized in her favorite’s excitement.

      “Patience, patience, I am coming directly,” cried she, drawing away her hand in order to arrange her dress and her grey hair, which was abundant and carefully dressed, and formed a meet setting for her still pleasing and unwrinkled face.

      “I knew it would be so; when you have a reasonable thing to propose to your father, he will always listen to you and agree with you without my intervention; women should not mix themselves up with men’s work. Youth draws a strong bow and often shoots beyond the mark. It would be a pretty thing if out of foolish affection for you I were to try to play the siren that should ensnare the steersman of the house—your father—with flattering words. You laugh at the grey-haired siren? But love overlooks the ravages of years and has a good memory for all that was once pleasing. Besides, men have not always wax in their ears when they should have. Come now to your father.”

      Dorothea went out past Polykarp and her daughter. The former held his sister back by the hand and asked—“Was not Sirona with you?”

      The sculptor tried to appear quite indifferent, but he blushed as he spoke; Marthana observed this and replied not without a roguish glance: “She did show us her pretty face; but important business called her away.”

      “Sirona?” asked Polykarp incredulously.

      “Certainly, why not!” answered Marthana laughing. “She had to sew a new gown for the children’s doll.”

      “Why do you mock at her kindness?” said Polykarp reproachfully.

      “How sensitive you are!” said Marthana softly. “Sirona is as kind and sweet as an angel; but you had better look at her rather less, for she is not one of us, and repulsive as the choleric centurion is to me—”

      She said no more, for Dame Dorothea, having reached the door of the sitting-room, looked around for her children.

      Petrus received his wife with no less gravity than was usual with him, but there was an arch sparkle in his half closed eyes as he asked: “You scarcely know what is going on, I suppose?”

      “You are madmen, who would fain take Heaven by storm,” she answered gaily.

      “If the undertaking fails,” said Petrus, pointing to his sons, “those young ones will feel the loss longer than we shall.”

      “But it will succeed,” cried Dorothea. “An old commander and young soldiers can win any battle.” She held out her small plump hand with frank briskness to her husband, he clasped it cheerily and said: “I think I can carry the project for the road through the Senate. To build our bridge we must also procure helping hands, and for that we need your aid, Dorothea. Our slaves will not suffice.”

      “Wait,” cried the lady eagerly; she went to the window and called, “Jethro, Jethro!”

      The person thus addressed, the old house-steward, appeared, and Dorothea began to discuss with him as to which of the inhabitants of the oasis might be disposed to let them have some able-bodied men, and whether it might not be possible to employ one or another of the house-slaves at the building.

      All that she said was judicious and precise, and showed that she herself superintended her household in every detail, and was accustomed to command with complete freedom.

      “That tall Anubis then is really indispensable in the stable?” she asked in conclusion. The steward, who up to this moment had spoken shortly and intelligently, hesitated to answer; at the same time he looked up at Petrus, who, sunk in the contemplation of the plan, had his back to him; his glance, and a deprecating movement, expressed very clearly that he had something to tell, but feared to speak in the presence of his master. Dame Dorothea was quick of comprehension, and she quite understood Jethro’s meaning; it was for that very reason that she said with more of surprise than displeasure: “What does the man mean with his winks? What I may hear, Petrus may hear too.”

      The senator turned, and looked at the steward from head to foot with so dark a glance, that he drew back, and began to speak quickly. But he was interrupted by the children’s clamors on the stairs and by Sirona, who brought Hermas to the senator, and said laughing: “I found this great fellow on the stairs, he was seeking you.”

      Petrus looked at the youth, not very kindly, and asked: “Who are you? what is your business?” Hermas struggled in vain for speech; the presence of so many human beings, of whom three were women, filled him with the utmost confusion. His fingers twisted the woolly curls on his sheep-skin, and his lips moved but gave no sound; at last he succeeded in stammering out, “I am the son of old Stephanus, who was wounded in the last raid of the Saracens. My father has hardly slept these five nights, and now Paulus has sent me to you—the pious Paulus of Alexandria—but you know—and so I—”

      “I see, I see,” said Petrus with encouraging kindness. “You want some medicine for the old man. See Dorothea, what a fine young fellow he is grown, this is the little man that the Antiochian took with him up the mountain.”

      Hermas colored, and drew himself up; then he observed with great satisfaction that he was taller than the senator’s sons, who were of about the same age as he, and for whom he had a stronger feeling, allied to aversion and fear, than even for their stern father. Polykarp measured him with a glance, and said aloud to Sirona, with whom he had exchanged a greeting, are off whom he had never once taken his eyes since she had come in: “If we could get twenty slaves with such shoulders as those, we should get on well. There is work to be done here, you big fellow—”

      “My name is not ‘fellow,’ but Hermas,” said the anchorite, and the veins of his forehead began to swell. Polykarp felt that his father’s visitor was something more than his poor clothing would seem to indicate and that he had hurt his feelings. He had certainly seen some old anchorites, who led a contemplative and penitential life up on the sacred mountain, but it had never occurred to him that a strong youth could be long to the brotherhood of hermits. So he said to him kindly: “Hermas—is that your name? We all use our hands here and labor is no disgrace; what is your handicraft?”

      This question roused the young anchorite to the highest excitement, and Dame Dorothea, who perceives what was passing in his mind, said with quick decision: “He nurses his sick father. That is what you do, my son is it not? Petrus will not refuse you his help.”

Скачать книгу