Volume I Part 32 (2/2)
”I know the Prefect of Rome,” said the silent guest.
”Well, Cethegus,” said Kallistratos, ”this is my Vulcanic friend, Furius Ahalla, from Corsica, the richest s.h.i.+p-owner of the West; deep as night and hot as fire. He possesses fifty houses, villas and palaces on all the coasts of Europe, Asia, and Africa; twenty galleys; a few thousand slaves and sailors, and----”
”And a very talkative friend,” concluded the Corsican. ”Prefect, I am sorry for you, but the amphora is mine. I know the wine.” And he took a Kibitz-egg and broke the sh.e.l.l with a silver spoon.
”Hardly,” said Cethegus with a sarcastic smile.
”Nevertheless I do know it. It is Isis-wine. From Memphis.” And the Corsican quietly sipped the golden yolk of his egg.
Cethegus looked at him in surprise.
”Well guessed!” he then said. ”Where have you tasted it?”
”Necessarily in the same place as you. It flows only from one source,”
said the Corsican, smiling.
”Enough of your secrets! No riddles under the rose!” cried Piso.
”Where have you two weasels found the same nest?” asked Kallistratos.
”Indeed,” said Cethegus, ”you may as well know it. In Old Egypt, and particularly in holy Memphis, there remain near the Christian settlers and monks in the deserts, men, and especially women, who still cling to their old faith; who will not forsake Apis and Osiris, and cherish faithfully the sweet wors.h.i.+p of Isis. They fly from the surface, where the Church has victoriously planted the cross of the ascetics, to the secret bosom of Mother Earth with their holy and beloved religious ceremonies. They still keep, hidden below the pyramids of Cheops, a few hundred amphoras of the strong wine which intoxicated the initiated at the orgies of joy and love. The secret is kept from generation to generation, there is always only one priestess who knows the cellar and keeps the key. I kissed the priestess and she let me in. She was like a wild cat, but her wine was good; and at parting she gave me five amphoras to take on board my s.h.i.+p.”
”I did not get as far as that with Smerda,” said the Corsican. ”She let me drink in the cellar, but at parting she only gave me this.” And he bared his brown throat.
”A dagger-stab of jealousy!” laughed Cethegus. ”Well, I am glad that the daughter has not degenerated. In my time, that is, when the mother let me drink, the little Smerda still ran about in baby-frocks. Long live the Nile and sweet Isis!” And the two men drank to each other. But yet they were vexed that they shared a secret which each believed he had possessed alone.
The others, however, were charmed by the amiable humour of the icy Prefect, who chatted with them as youthfully as the youngest amongst them, and who now, when the favourite theme of young men at the wine-cup had been introduced--love adventures and stories of lovely women--bubbled over with anecdotes of jests and tricks, of most of which he had himself been witness. Every one stormed him with questions. The Corsican alone remained dumb and cold.
”Say,” cried the host, and signed to the cup-bearer just as a burst of mirth caused by one of these stories had ceased; ”tell us, you man of varied experience--Egyptian Isis-girls, Gallic Druidesses, black-haired daughters of Syria, and my plastic sisters of h.e.l.las--all these you know and understand how to value; but tell us, have you ever loved a Germanic woman?”
”No,” said Cethegus, ”they were always too insipid for me.”
”Oho!” said Kallistratos; ”that is saying too much. I tell you, I was mad all the last calendars for a German girl; she was not at all insipid.”
”What? you, Kallistratos of Corinth, the countryman of Aspasia and Helena, you could burn for a barbarian woman? Oh, wicked Eros, sense-confuser, man-shamer!”
”Well, I acknowledge it was an error of the senses. I have never before experienced such.”
”Relate, relate!” cried all the others.
CHAPTER X.
”With pleasure,” said the host, smoothing his cus.h.i.+ons; ”although I play no brilliant part in the story. Well, some time ago I was returning home from the baths of Abaskanthus at about the eighth hour.
In the street I found a woman's litter, accompanied by four slaves, who, I believe, were captive Gepidians. And exactly opposite the door of my house stood two veiled women, their calanticas thrown over their heads. One wore the garment of a slave, but the other was very richly and tastefully dressed; and the little that could be seen of her figure was divine. Such a graceful walk, such slender ankles, such an arched instep! As I approached they entered the litter and were gone. But I--you know that a sculptor's blood flows in the veins of every Greek--I dreamt all night of the slender ankles and the light step. The next day at noon, as I opened the door to go, as usual, to the bibliographers in the Forum, I saw the same litter hurrying away. I confess--though I am not usually vain--I thought that this time I had made a conquest; I wished it so much. And I could no longer doubt it, when, coming home again at the eighth hour, I saw my strange beauty, this time unaccompanied, slip past me and hurry to her litter. I could not follow the quick-footed slaves, so I entered my house, full of happy thoughts. The ostiarius met me and said:
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