XIX
It was the time of vintage; all day songs had been echoing along thehill-sides around the pleasant Gulf of Naples.
In the favourite country of the Romans, at Baiae, famous for itssulphur-baths, Baiae of which the Augustan poets used to say,
_Nullus in orbe sinus Baiis praelucet amoenis,--_
idle folk were delighting in the country and Nature; there fairer andmore voluptuous than man.
It was an inviolate corner of that charming country, where theimaginations of Horace, Propertius, and Tibullus lingered yet. Not asingle shadow of the monkish age had yet dulled that sunny littoralbetween Vesuvius and Cape Misenum. Christianity it is true was notdenied there; but it was smilingly put by. Feminine sinners there werenot yet repentant. On the contrary honest women grew shy of virtue asold-fashioned. When news of the Sibyl's prophecies arrived, menacingthe decrepit world with earthquake, or when came news of fresh crimesand bigotries of Constantius, or of Persians invading the East, orbarbarians threatening the North, the lucky inhabitants of Baiae,closing their eyes, inhaled their delicious breeze full of the odourof Falernian half-crushed in the wine-press, and consoled themselveswith an epigram. To forget the misfortunes of Rome and soothsay aboutthe end of the world, all that they needed was to send each othergifts of pretty verses--
_Calet unda, friget aethra, Simul innatat choreis Amathusium renidens Salis arbitrae et vaporis, Flos siderum Dione!_
On the faces of the gayest Epicureans could be seen something at oncesenile and puerile. Neither the fresh salt water of the sea bath northe warm sulphurous springs of Baiae could completely cure the bodiesof these withered and chilly young men, bald and old at twenty, notthrough their own debauches, but through sins of their ancestors;youths on whom women, wisdom, and literature had begun to pall; wittyand impotent young men, in whose veins ran the blood of too late ageneration.
In one of the most flowery and pleasant nooks between Baiae and Puteoliand under the dark slopes of the Apennine, rose the white marble wallsof a villa.
Near the wide window, opening directly on the sea, so that from thechamber sky and sea alone were visible, Myrrha was lying on a bed.
The doctors had not understood her malady; but Arsinoe, who watchedher sister day by day losing strength and vitality, had brought herfrom Rome to the sea-coast.
Notwithstanding her illness Myrrha would clean and arrange her chamberwith her own hands, in imitation of nuns and hermits; and wouldherself bring water, and attempt to wash linen, and do her owncookery. For weeks, and to the very last stage of her illness, sheobstinately refused to go to bed, spending whole nights in prayer.One day the terrified Arsinoe found a hair-shirt on the weak body ofher sister. Myrrha had taken all articles of luxury from her littlechamber, stripping it of curtains and ornaments, and leaving nothingbut a bed and a coarse wooden crucifix. The bare-walled room was "hercell." She also fasted strictly and Arsinoe found it difficult tooppose the gentle obstinacy of her will.
From the life of Arsinoe all listlessness had disappeared. She waveredcontinually between hope of restoring Myrrha to health and despair atlosing her. And although she could not love her sister morepassionately than before, yet, dominated by the fear of their eternalseparation, she understood her own love more clearly.
Sometimes, with motherly pity, Arsinoe would gaze upon that wastedface, and the little body in which so fierce a fire was burning. Whenthe sick girl refused wine and food prescribed by the physician,Arsinoe would say in vexation--
"Do you think I am blind, Myrrha? Are you trying to kill yourself?"
"Are not life and death equal in our eyes?" answered the young girl,with such earnestness that Arsinoe could only reply--
"You do not love me!..."
But Myrrha used to say caressingly--
"Beloved, you do not know how much I love you! Oh, if you couldonly..."
The invalid would never finish the sentence, nor ask her sister if sheheld the faith. But in her sad glance at Arsinoe, as if not daringutterance, Arsinoe read reproach. Nevertheless, she was herselfunwilling to speak about that faith, not having the courage tocommunicate her doubt, for fear of perhaps robbing her sister of themad hope of immortality.
Myrrha weakened from day to day, waning like the wax of a taper; butfrom day to day grew more joyous and more calm.
Juventinus, who had quitted Rome lest his mother should follow him,was waiting at Naples with Didimus for the departure of the ship forAlexandria. He came to see the sisters every evening. He used to readaloud the Gospels and tell legends of the saints.... Oh, how Myrrhalonged to journey to those dark caves and live near those great andholy lives! The desert to her appeared not dull and sterile, butflowery, a wondrous earthly paradise, lighted by a light such as shoneon no other region. Indoors she grew stifled; and sometimes, feveredby the pains of sickness, and languishing after the Thebaid, she usedto watch the white sails of ships disappear in the distance andstretch out her pale hands towards them. Oh, to flee after them andbreathe the pure air and silence of the desert! Many a time she wouldtry to rise, declaring she felt better, would soon be well, and insecret kept hoping that they would allow her to set sail with Didimusand Juventinus, on the ship for Alexandria.
Anatolius, Arsinoe's faithful admirer, was also living at Baiae. Theyoung Epicurean used to organise delightful excursions in his gildedgalley from the Bay to the Paestan Gulf, with gay companions and prettywomen. What he loved most was to see the purple sails bowing over thesleepy sea; hues of twilight melting on the cliffs of Capreae andIschia, looking like enormous amethysts lying in the water. It pleasedhim to ridicule his friends about their faith. The fragrance of winesand the intoxicating kisses of courtesans pleased him also.
But every time he went into Myrrha's quiet little cell he would becomeaware that another side of life also lay open to him. The innocentgrace and the pale countenance of the young girl touched him deeply.He longed to believe in anything in which she believed: the gentleGalilean, and the miracle of immortality. He would listen to the talesof Juventinus, and the life of desert anchorites he, too, thoughtsublime. Anatolius observed with surprise that for himself truthexisted both in the intoxication of life and in its renunciation; bothin the triumph of matter and in the triumph of soul; both in chastityand in voluptuousness. His intelligence remained clear, and hisconscience without remorse.
Even doubt had for him its pleasure, like a kind of new game. Thesedeep and gentle waves of opinion, transitions from Christianity toPaganism, lulled his soul rather than distressed it.
One evening Myrrha fell asleep before the open window. On awakening,she said to Juventinus with a bright smile--
"I've had a strange dream...."
"What was it?"
"I don't remember. But it was happy. Do you think that the whole worldwill gain salvation?"
"All the righteous; sinners will be punished."
"Righteous? sinners?... That is not my idea," answered Myrrha, stillsmiling, as if she was trying to remember the dream. "Do you know,Juventinus, that all, all shall be saved, and that God will not sufferone to be lost!"
"So the great master Origen believed. He used to say, 'My Saviourcannot rejoice so long as I am in iniquity.' But that is a heresy...."
Myrrha, not listening, went on--
"Yes! yes! that must be so. I understand it at last. All shall besaved, to the very last. God will not allow one of His creatures toperish."
"I wish I too could believe it," murmured Juventinus, "but I should beafraid...."
"One must fear nothing; where there is love, fear is cast out. I donot fear anything."
"And He?" demanded Juventinus.
"Who?"
"He, the Unnameable, the Arch-rebel!"
"He also, He also!" cried Myrrha, with strong conviction. "So long asthere shall be even a soul that has not gained salvation, no creaturecan enjoy full felicity. If there be no bounds to Love, if Love isinfinite, then all shall be in God, and God in all. Friend, will nottha
t be happiness? We have not yet taken full account of that. Everysoul must be blessed, do you understand?"
"And Evil?"
"There is no evil, if there is no Death."
Through the open window came the echo of the Bacchic songs of thefriends of Anatolius, making merry in their purple galleys on the bluetwilight sea.
Myrrha pointed to them--
"And that is also beautiful, and that is also to be blest," shemurmured.
"What? These vicious songs?" asked Juventinus, dreading her reply.
Myrrha shook her head--
"No! all is well, all is pure. Beauty comes from God. Friend, what areyou afraid of? To love, one must be unspeakably free!... Fearabsolutely nothing. You are still ignorant what happiness life cangive!"
She drew a deep sigh and added--
"And what happiness death gives too!"
It was their last talk together. Myrrha lay in bed for several days,motionless and silent, without opening her eyes. She may have sufferedmuch, for her brows would sometimes contract with pain; but a gentlesmile of resignation would follow; not a groan, not a complaintescaped the closed lips.
Once, at midnight, she called Arsinoe, who was sitting beside her. Thesick girl spoke with difficulty; she asked, without opening her eyes--
"Is it yet day?"
"No, night still," answered Arsinoe, "but the sun will soon rise."
"I cannot hear.... Who are you?" Myrrha murmured indistinctly.
"It is I, Arsinoe."
The invalid suddenly opened her wide luminous eyes and gazed fixedlyon her sister.
"It seemed to me," said Myrrha with an effort, "it seemed to me thatit was not you ... that I was utterly alone."
Then very slowly, with great difficulty, being scarcely able to move,she brought her transparent hands together, with an imploring look offear. The corners of the lips trembled, the eyebrows moved.
"Do not abandon me! When I die, do not think that I am no more!"
Arsinoe leaned towards her, but Myrrha was too weak to kiss her,although she tried to do so. Arsinoe brought her cheek closer to thegreat eyes, and the young girl softly caressed her face with the longlashes. Arsinoe felt on her cheek a touch light as butterfly'svelvety wings. It was a trick invented by Myrrha in childhood.
That last caress brought back to Arsinoe all their life together, alltheir mutual affection. She fell on her knees and, for the first timefor years, sobbed irresistibly, as if the tears were melting herinmost heart.
"No, Myrrha," she said, "I will not abandon you.... I will stay withyou always!"
Myrrha's eyes grew animated and joyous; she faltered--
"Then you----"
"Yes; I long to believe; _I will believe!_" exclaimed Arsinoe, andimmediately wondered. Those words appeared a miracle to herself, andno deception. She had no wish to recall them.
"I will go into the desert, Myrrha; like you, instead of you," shecontinued in a transport of wild love; "and, if God exists, He mustgrant that there shall be no death between us; so that we _shall_ bealways together."
Myrrha closed her eyes, listening to her sister. With a smile ofinfinite peace, she murmured--
"Now, I will go to sleep. I want nothing more. I am well."
She never opened her eyes or spoke again; her face was calm and severeas the face of the dead; and in this state she lived on several dayslonger.
When a cup of wine was brought near to her lips, she would swallow afew mouthfuls. If her breathing became nervous and irregular,Juventinus would chant a prayer or some divine hymn, and then, as ifsoothed, Myrrha began to breathe more easily.
One evening, when the sun had set behind Ischia and Capreae, while themotionless sea was melting into heaven, and the first dim startrembling, Juventinus was singing to the dying girl--
_Deus creator omnium Polique rector vestiens, Diem decore lumine Noctem sopora gratia._
Perhaps Myrrha's last sigh was breathed to the sound of that solemnhymn. None knew when she died. There seemed no change. Her lifemingled painlessly with the impalpable, inviolable, the Eternal, asthe warmth of a fair twilight melts into the coolness of night.
Arsinoe buried her sister in the catacombs, and with her own handengraved on the slab, "_Myrrha, vivis!_" ("Myrrha, thou livest.")
She scarcely wept. But she bore in her heart contempt for the world,and the resolve to believe in God, or at least to do all she could toattain belief in Him. She desired to distribute her fortune to thepoor, and to set out for the Thebaid. On the very day Arsinoe informedher indignant guardian of these intentions she received from Gaul acurt and enigmatic letter from Caesar Julian--
"Julian, to the most noble Arsinoe, happiness! Do you remember thematter about which we spoke together at Athens, in front of the statueof Artemis? Do you remember our alliance? Great is my hate, butgreater yet is my love. It may be that the lion shall fling away theass's skin soon. Meantime, let us be gentle as doves and wise asserpents, according to the counsel of the Nazarean Christ."
The Death of the Gods Page 20
