ACTÉ, page 3
This religious act accomplished, the two young people took a path which crossed the sacred wood and led to the summit of the citadel. The Corinthian maiden walked in front, like Venus conducting Aeneas along the road to Carthage; while Lucius, behind her, traversed an atmosphere scented by the balmy perfume of her hair. From time to time she turned round, and as, on leaving the town, she had dropped her veil down upon her shoulders, the Roman devoured with eager eyes that charming face to which the walk had imparted fresh animation, and the bosom which he saw heaving through the light tunic that covered it. In proportion as they climbed higher, the panorama became more and more extensive. At last, at the highest point of the hill, Acté stopped beneath a mulberry-tree, and, leaning against it to recover breath, said to Lucius: “Here we are arrived. What think you of this view? Does it not equal that from Naples?”
The Roman approached her without making any reply, passed his arm round one of the branches of the tree for support, and, instead of looking at the view, fixed his eyes on Acté with such an ardent look of love that the girl, feeling herself blushing, hurriedly went on talking to hide her confusion.
“See towards the east,” said she; “spite of the growing twilight, there is the acropolis of Athens, gleaming like a point of white light, and the promontory of Sunium standing out against the blue waves like a spear-head. Nearer to us, in the middle of the Saronic Gulf, that horseshoe-shaped island that you see is Salamis, where Aeschylus fought and Xerxes was defeated; below, towards the south, in the direction of Corinth, and about fifteen miles from this spot, you can see Nemea and the forest in which Hercules slew the lion whose skin he wore ever after as a trophy of his victory. Farther off, at the foot of that chain of mountains bounding the horizon, is Epidaurus, dear to Aesculapius; and, behind it, Argos, the land of the King of Kings; to the west, plunged in the golden waves of the setting sun, at the end of the rich plains of Sicyon, beyond that blue line made by the sea, do you perceive Samé and Ithaca? And now turn your back on Corinth and look northwards. See, to our right, Mount Cithseron, on which Œdipus was exposed; to our left, Leuctra, where Epaminondas defeated the Spartans; and, opposite to us, Plataea, where Aristides and Pausanias vanquished the Persians; then, in the centre, and at the extremity of that chain of mountains which runs from Attica into Aetolia, Helicon clad with pines, myrtles, and bay-trees, and Parnassus with its two summits white with snow, between which flows the Castalian fount which received from the Muses the gift of imparting poetic inspiration to those who drink of its waters.”
“Yes,” said Lucius, “your country is the land of great memories; it is a pity that all her children do not cherish them as religiously as you do. But console yourself with the thought that, if Greece is no longer queen in strength, she is always queen by beauty, and that sovereignty is the sweetest and the most powerful.”
Acté felt for her veil, but Lucius grasped her hand. The girl started, but yet had not the courage to withdraw it; a mist passed before her eyes, and, feeling her knees giving way, she leant against the trunk of the mulberry-tree.
It was that delightful hour when it is no longer day and not yet night; the twilight, extending over the whole horizon towards the east, covered the Archipelago and Attica; while in the opposite quarter the lire-lit waves of the Ionian Sea and the golden clouds in the sky seemed separated from one another only by the sun which, like some mighty shield forged to a red heat, began to dip its lower edge into the sea. From the city still rose a murmur like that of a hive; but all sounds of plain and mountain gradually died away, save that occasionally the shrill cry of a shepherd sounded from the direction of Cythaeron, or the shout of a sailor drawing his boat over the beach rose from the Saronic Sea or the Gulf of Crissa. Nocturnal insects began to chirp in the grass, and the glow-worms, scattered by thousands through the warm evening air, shone like sparks from an invisible hearth. You felt that Nature, wearied with the day’s toils, was letting herself gradually fall asleep, and that in a few moments all would be hushed so as not to disturb her voluptuous repose.
The young people themselves, yielding to the influence of this impression, had grown silent, when in the direction of the harbour of Lechaeum there was heard so strange a cry that Acté shuddered. Lucius quickly turned his head and directed his eyes towards the bireme that could be seen on the beach like a golden shell. With an instinctive feeling of fear the girl rose and made a movement to take the road towards the city, but Lucius stopped her. She yielded without a word, and, as though overcome by a force greater than her own, leant once more against the tree, or rather against the arm which Lucius had, without her perceiving it, passed round her waist, and, letting her head droop backward, looked at the sky with eyes and lips half closed. Lucius gazed amorously at her in this charming attitude, and, though she felt the eyes of the young Roman devouring her with their ardent glance, she had not the strength to avoid them, when a second cry, nearer and more terrible, penetrated the sweet, calm air, and aroused Acté from her ecstasy.
“Let us flee! Lucius,” she cried in terror, “there is some savage animal prowling in the mountain. We have but to cross the sacred wood, and we are at the temple of Venus or the citadel. Come, Lucius, come.”
Lucius smiled.
“Does Acté fear anything,” said he, “when she is beside me? For my part, I feel that for her I would brave all the monsters that Theseus, Hercules and Cadmus overcame.”
“But do you know what that noise is?” asked the girl, trembling.
“Yes,” answered Lucius with a smile, “yes, it is the roar of a tiger.”
“Jupiter protect us!” cried Acté, throwing herself into the Roman’s arms.
A third cry, nearer and more menacing than the first two, had just crossed the intervening space; Lucius answered it by a cry almost similar. Almost at the same instant a tigress sprang out of the sacred wood, stopped, and rose on its hind-paws as though in doubt as to the road. Lucius uttered a peculiar whistle; the tigress sprang forward, clearing myrtles, ilexes, and oleanders, like a dog dashing through heather, and made towards him, roaring with delight. Suddenly the Roman felt the girl’s whole weight upon his arm; she had fallen unconscious and half-dead with terror.
When Acté recovered consciousness she found herself in the arms of Lucius, while the tigress, lying at their feet, laid her terrible head caressingly upon her master’s knees, the eyes gleaming like carbuncles. At this sight the girl threw herself again into her lover’s arms, half in terror, half in shame, at the same time extending her hand towards her unfastened girdle, which had been thrown a few feet from her. Lucius saw this last effort on the part of modesty, and, unfastening the massive gold collar which encircled the neck of the tigress, and to which there still hung a link of the chain that she had broken, he clasped it round the girl’s slender and supple waist; next, picking up the girdle which he had stealthily untied, he fastened one end of the riband to the tiger’s neck, and placed the other one between Acté’s trembling fingers. Then both rose and went down in silence towards the city, Acté resting one hand on Lucius’ shoulder, and with the other leading, chained and submissive, the tigress that had caused her such alarm.
At the entrance to the town they met the Nubian slave in whose charge “Phœbé” had been left; he had followed her into the country and had lost sight of her at the moment when the animal, scenting out tier master, had dashed forward towards the citadel. On seeing Lucius he fell upon his knees and bowed his head in expectation of the chastisement he thought he had merited. But Lucius was too happy at this moment to be severe, and besides, Acté was looking at him with clasped hands.
“Rise, Libycus,” said the Roman; “I forgive you this once, but henceforth keep a better guard over Phœbé; you have been the cause of this fair nymph nearly dying of fright. Come, my Ariadné, hand over your tigress to her keeper; I will yoke a pair of them to a chariot of gold and ivory, and make you drive in it through the midst of a people that will worship you as a goddess.... All right, Phœbé, all right; goodbye....”
But the tigress was not content to go away like this. She halted in front of Lucius, stood up against him, and, placing her two fore-paws on his shoulders, caressed him with her tongue, uttering little roars of affection.
“Yes, yes,” said Lucius sotto voce; “yes, you are a beautiful creature; and when we return to Rome I will give you a fine Christian slave and her two children to devour. Go, Phœbé, go along.”
The tigress obeyed as though she understood this sanguinary promise, and followed Libycus, but not without turning several times in the direction of her master; and it was not until he and Acté, who was still pale and trembling, had disappeared through the gate of the city, that she made up her mind to return to the gilded cage which she occupied on board the vessel.
In his host’s entrance-hall Lucius found a slave waiting to conduct him to his sleeping-chamber. The young Roman pressed Acté’s hand and followed the slave who preceded him with a lamp. As for the fair Corinthian, she went, according to her custom, to kiss her father, who, on seeing her so pale and agitated, asked her what dread was troubling her.
Thereupon she told him of the fright which Phœbé had given her, and how this terrible creature obeyed Lucius’ slightest gesture.
The old man remained an instant plunged in thought, then observed with uneasiness:
“What man is this, who plays with tigers, who orders about Proconsuls, and who blasphemes the gods!”
Acté approached her cold, pale lips to her father’s forehead; but scarcely ventured to lay them on the old grey hairs. She withdrew to her room, and, in utter bewilderment, not knowing if what had passed had been a dream or a reality touched herself with her hands to make sure that she was really awake. Then she felt beneath her fingers the circle of gold which had replaced her maiden girdle, and, drawing the lamp closer, she read upon the collar these words, which so closely corresponded with her thoughts: “I belong to Lucius.”
CHAPTER III
THE night was spent in sacrifices: the temples were adorned with garlands as for the great national festivals. Then, directly the sacred ceremonies were accomplished, although it was hardly one o’clock in the morning, the crowd hurried towards the wrestling-ground, so great was their eagerness to witness once more the games which recalled the old and palmy days of Greece.
Amycles was one of the eight selected judges; in this capacity he had his place reserved opposite to that of the Roman Proconsul; consequently he did not arrive until the games were about to begin. At the entrance he met Sporus coming to rejoin his master there; the guards, however, refused him admission, because, from his fair complexion, delicate hands, and languid walk, they took him for a female. Now, an ancient law, revived for this occasion, condemned any woman, who witnessed the races and wrestling in which the athletes contended naked, to be hurled from a rock. Amycles vouched for Sporus, and the youth, who had been momentarily stopped, was enabled to rejoin his master. The gymnasium resembled a bee-hive; beyond the first arrivals, who were seated on tiers of benches, the whole space was thronged. The doors seemed closed in by a wall of heads; the coping of the walls was surmounted by rows of spectators standing and holding one another up, their sole point of support being the gilded posts, at intervals of ten feet, to which the awning was fastened. Many more buzzed like bees round the entrances to the immense structure into which not merely the population of Corinth had just disappeared, but likewise representatives from the whole civilized world who crowded to this celebration. As for the women, you might see them from a distance at the gates and on the walls of the city, where they waited until the winner’s name should be proclaimed.
Scarcely had Amycles seated himself, when, the number of the judges being now complete, the Proconsul rose and announced, in the name of Nero Caesar, Emperor of Rome and master of the world, that the games were opened. Loud shouts of applause greeted his words, and all eyes were turned towards the portico where the wrestlers stood waiting. Seven young men issued from it and advanced towards the Proconsul’s tribune. Two only of the wrestlers hailed from Corinth; of the five others, one was a Theban, one from Syracuse, one from Sybaris, while two were Romans.
The two Corinthians were twin-brothers; they came forward with their arms intertwined, clothed in similar tunics, and so closely alike in build, appearance, and face, that the whole circus clapped their hands at the sight of these two Menaechmi. The Theban was a young shepherd who, while keeping his sheep near Mount Cithaeron, seeing a bear coming down from the mountain, had thrown himself in its path, and, unarmed against this terrible antagonist, had seized the bear round the body and choked the life out of him. To commemorate this victory, he had covered his shoulders with the skin of the animal, whose head, serving as a helmet for him, enframed with its white teeth his sunburnt face. The Syracusan had given a no less extraordinary proof of his strength. One day, when his compatriots were making a sacrifice to Jupiter, the bull, being clumsily struck by the sacrificer, dashed into the middle of the crowd, all decked with its garlands and fillets, and had already trampled several persons under foot, when the Syracusan seized it by the horns, and, raising one horn and depressing the other, made it fall upon its side and held it under him, like a vanquished athlete, until a soldier plunged his sword into its throat. Lastly, the young Sybarite, who had for long been unaware of his own strength, had its presence revealed to him in a manner no less accidental and extraordinary. Reclining with his friends on purple couches round a sumptuous table, he had suddenly heard shouts; a chariot, drawn by two spirited horses, had dashed against the nearest corner of the street. In this chariot sat his mistress; he rushed out through the window and seized the chariot from behind; the horses, being checked in their course, suddenly reared, one of the two fell over on its side, and the young man seized in his arms his mistress, who was unconscious but unhurt. As for the two Romans, one was a professional athlete, renowned for his great victories; the other was Lucius.
The judges placed seven papers in an urn. Two of these papers were marked with an “A,” two with a “B,” two with a “C,” and one with a “D.” The lots would thus form three pairs and leave a seventh athlete to contend against the winners. The Proconsul shuffled the papers with his own hands, then the seven competitors advanced, each took out a paper and placed it in the hands of the president of the games; the latter opened them one after the other and paired the men. It chanced that the two Corinthians each drew an “A,” the Theban and the Syracusan each a “B,” the Sybarite and the athlete the two “C’s,” and Lucius the “D.”
The athletes, still in ignorance as to the order of wrestling decided by the lots, now stripped themselves, with the exception of Lucius, who, having to enter the lists last of all, remained enveloped in his cloak. The Proconsul called the two “A’s”; immediately the two brothers sprang from the portico and found themselves opposed to one another. Surprise elicited from them a cry to which the assemblage replied by a murmur of astonishment; then they remained for a moment motionless and undecided. But this hesitation lasted no longer than a flash of lightning, for they threw themselves at once into each other’s arms; the whole amphitheatre burst into unanimous applause, and, at the sound of this homage paid to fraternal affection, the two handsome youths smilingly retired to leave the field free for their rivals, and, linked arm in arm like Castor and Pollux, instead of being performers as they had expected, became spectators.
The pair who should have given the second exhibition now found themselves the first; accordingly the Theban and the Syracusan stepped forward, the conqueror of bears and the vanquisher of bulls measured one another with their eyes and then advanced to the fray. For a moment their two bodies, united and interlocked, presented the appearance of a knotted and shapeless tree-trunk capriciously modelled by Nature suddenly rolling over, torn from its roots by a stroke of lightning. For some seconds you could distinguish nothing amid the dust, so equal did the chances of each appear, and so rapidly did each wrestler find himself now above, now underneath; at last the Theban ended the struggle by planting his knee on the Syracusan’s chest, and, encircling his throat with both hands like a ring of iron, he pressed it with such violence that the latter was obliged to raise his hand in token of confession of defeat. Unanimous applause, which proved with what enthusiasm the Greeks took part in this spectacle, greeted the conclusion of this first contest; and it was to cheers thrice renewed that the victor went and placed himself beneath the Proconsul’s box, while his humiliated antagonist returned to the portico, from which at once issued the last pair of combatants, consisting of the Sybarite and the Roman professional.
It was curious to see, when they had stripped off their clothing, and while the slaves were rubbing them with oil, these two men of such an opposite character and presenting the two finest types of antiquity, that of Hercules and that of Antinous, — the Roman with his short hair and brown muscular limbs, the rounded body. The Greeks, those great worshippers of physical beauty, those religious votaries of form, those connoisseurs in every perfection, allowed a murmur of admiration to escape which at the same time caused the two adversaries to raise their heads. Their proud glances met like lightning-flashes, and, without waiting until this preparatory operation was completely finished, both tore themselves from the hands of their slaves and advanced towards one another.
Having arrived within a distance of three or four yards, they looked at each other with fresh attention, and each doubtless recognised in his adversary a rival worthy of himself, for the eyes of the one assumed the expression of defiance, and of the other that of craft. At last, with a spontaneous and similar movement, they grasped each other by the arms, placed their foreheads together, and, like two bulls struggling, made the first trial of their strength in endeavouring to force each other backwards. Both, however, remained upright and motionless in their places, like statues whose life was indicated only by the gradual swelling of the muscles which seemed on the point of bursting. After maintaining this motionless position for a minute, both threw themselves backward, their faces bathed in sweat, and breathing loudly, like divers when they return to the surface of the water.
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