Part 16

Dorion, who had for some seconds been looking at the new-comer, suddenly clapped his hands and uttered a cry of surprise.

“It is he, friends! His look, his beard, his tunic--it is he himself! I met him at the theatre whilst our Thais was acting. He was furiously excited, and spoke with violence, as I can testify. He is an honest man, but he will abuse us all; his eloquence is terrible. If Marcus is the Plato of the Christians, Paphnutius is the Demosthenes. Epicurus, in his little garden, never heard the like.”

Philina and Drosea, however, devoured Thais with their eyes. She wore on her fair hair a wreath of pale violets, each flower of which recalled, in a paler hue, the colour of her eyes, so that the flowers looked like softened glances, and the eyes like sparkling flowers. It was the peculiar gift of this woman; on her everything lived, and was soul and harmony. Her robe, which was of mauve spangled with silver, trailed in long folds with a grace that was almost melancholy and was not relieved by either bracelets or necklaces. The chief charm of her appearance was her beautiful bare arms. The two friends were obliged to admire, in spite of themselves the robe and head-dress of Thais, though they said nothing to her on the subject.

“How beautiful you are!” said Philina. “You could not have been more so when you came to Alexandria. Yet my mother, who remembers seeing you then, says there were few women who were worthy to be compared with you.”

“Who is the new lover you have brought?” asked Drosea. “He has a strange, wild appearance. If there are shepherds of elephants, assuredly he must resemble one. Where did you find such a wild-looking friend, Thais? Was it amongst the troglodytes who live under the earth, and are grimy with the smoke of Hades?”

But Philina put her finger on Drosea’s lips.

“Hush! the mysteries of love must remain secret, and it is forbidden to know them. For my own part, certainly, I would rather be kissed by the mouth of smoking Etna than by the lips of that man. But our dear Thais, who is beautiful and adorable as the goddesses, should, like the goddesses, grant all requests, and not, like us, only those of nice young men.”

“Take care, both of you!” replied Thais. “He is a mage and an enchanter. He hears words that are whispered, and even thoughts. He will tear out your heart while you are asleep, and put a sponge in its place, and the next day, when you drink water, you will be choked to death.”

She watched them grow pale, then she turned away from them, and sat on a couch by the side of Paphnutius. The voice of Cotta, kind but imperious, was suddenly heard above the murmur of conversation.

“Friends, let each take his place! Slaves, pour out the honeyed wine!”

Then, the host raising his cup--

“Let us first drink to the divine Constantine and the genius of the empire. The country should be put first of all, even above the gods, for it contains them all.”

All the guests raised their full cups to their lips. Paphnutius alone did not drink, because Constantine had persecuted the Nicaean faith, and because the country of the Christian is not of this world.

Dorion, having drunk, murmured--

“What is one’s country? A flowing river. The shores change, and the waves are incessantly renewed.”

“I know, Dorion,” replied the Prefect of the Fleet, “that you care little for the civic virtues, and you think that the sage ought to hold himself aloof from all affairs. I think, on the contrary, that an honest man should desire nothing better than to fill a responsible post in the State. The State is a noble thing.”

Hermodorus, the High Priest of Serapis, spoke next--

“Dorion has asked, ‘What is one’s country?’ I will reply that the altars of the gods and the tombs of ancestors make one’s country. A man is a fellow-citizen by association of memories and hopes.”

Young Aristobulus interrupted Hermodorus.

“By Castor! I saw a splendid horse to-day. It belonged to Demophoon. It has a fine head, small jaw, and strong forelegs. It carries its neck high and proud, like a cock.”

But young Chereas shook his head.

“It is not such a good horse as you say, Aristobulus. Its hoofs are thin, and the pasterns are too low; the animal will soon go lame.”

They were continuing their dispute, when Drosea uttered a piercing shriek.

“Oh! I nearly swallowed a fish-bone, as long and much sharper than a style. Luckily, I was able to get it out of my throat in time! The gods love me!”

“Did you say, Drosea, that the gods loved you?” asked Nicias, smiling. “Then they must share the same infirmities as men. Love presupposes unhappiness on the part of whoever suffers from it, and is a proof of weakness. The affection they feel for Drosea is a great proof of the imperfection of the gods.”

At these words Drosea flew into a great rage.

“Nicias, your remarks are foolish and not to the point. But that is your character--you never understand what is said, and reply in words devoid of sense.”

Nicias smiled again.