Victor Serenus. Henry Wood

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      “A riddle for my interpretation, Marcius?”

      “Thou judgest rightly.”

      “Methinks I am already on the trail, my gallant; or art thou an impostor? Come, I am impatient! Doth the bird sing?”

      “Thou wilt find out the particulars for thyself.”

      “A truce. Solve thine own riddle, I say.”

      “Well, my gay Leander, the slaves down-stairs say that we are honored by a call—rather unceremonious, I must admit—from a beautiful young Jewess.”

      “Ha! A bird of that feather will stir the pulses.”

      “Thou sayest well. The sun warms and the breeze refreshes.”

      The Roman smiled, and his dark eyes sparkled from beneath their heavy brows.

      “A much-needed addition to our coterie, Marcius. The gods are propitious to-night.”

      “Thy discrimination is fine, my genial Greek. Variety is fitting.”

      “Fortune commands us to be hospitable.”

      “We will obey with alacrity, and make the young Jewess quite at home.”

      “Even the elements bespeak a welcome with their noisy commotion.”

      “A truce to thy poetic fancies, my gallant. They say the bird hath an incumbrance.”

      “A lover in her train, sayest thou?”

      “Nay; a small brother.”

      “Did the skies drop them down with the hail-stones in the storm that just passed over, Marcius?”

      “I cannot swear to it, my Leander; but it seemeth likely, for the slaves say that they appeared just afterwards at the gate which opens toward the Cydnus.”

      “O thou prosaic Roman! It is the gods who are prodigal with their favors.”

      “Be it so. Who recks the wind, where it blows, so that it ministers to our fancies. Thou art an ardent votary of thy favorite divinities; but miracles like this are not common.”

      “Ah! the Muses whisper to us:—

      ‘Love, sons of earth—for love is earth’s soft lore,

      Look where ye will—earth overflows with me,

      Learn from the waves that ever kiss the shore,

      And the winds nestling on the heaving sea.’”

      “Son of the Muses! Descend from thy flight among the deities, and be assured that to the commonplace god of Necessity this visit of our guests is due. Their light shallop being disabled, they made a very unexpected but necessary landing upon the dock within our enclosing walls.”

      “The shades of Daphne be praised, Marcius; but what of the lad in attendance?”

      “If we find no service for him within the palace, we may have to offer him to the gods as a Hebrew sacrifice, or, in other words, present him as a graceful tribute to the waters of the Cydnus.”

      “Thou sayest well. The Styx is often a shady but poetic necessity. The gods give their favorites early release.”

      “A happy turn to a shadowy sentiment, my gay Leander, and quite worthy of thy ever-presiding Muse.”

      “But will not our guest feel neglected at this delay in her reception, Marcius?”

      “Nay, my gallant; she must be made presentable. The slave woman, Chloe, informs me that she was terribly dishevelled from the storm, but that her beauty is marvellous. She is being warmed and refreshed.”

      “Ah! my favorite Muse again comes to the front:—

      ‘In the veins of the calix foams and glows

      The blood of the mantling vine;

      But oh! in the bowl of Youth there glows

      A Lesbium more divine!

      Bright, Bright,

      As the liquid light,

      Its waves through thine eyelids shine!’”

      “A very graceful song. From whence is it?”

      “Oh, it is but a ripple on the surface of the great sea of Grecian lore.”

      “Be it so. But a truce to the lore of the past. Let us now to the present. Pour a libation to Venus, and bring a vessel of the wine of Lesbos, and we will drink to the health of the fair one—the last to come under our gracious protection.”

      “Thou sayest well, Marcius. What the immortal gods send, let us receive with thanks, and let it be consecrated in the charmed halls of our temple of Eros.”

      The two seated themselves, and in a little time each had drained a large amphora of wine—once repeated. Soon the blood shot like flashes of fire through their veins. At length Leander arose, and took from a vase a handful of rare flowers.

      “I weave a chaplet for my Jewish maiden, and chant once more in her honor:—

      ‘We are fallen, but not forlorn,

      If something is left to cherish;

      As Love was the earliest born,

      So Love is the last to perish.’”

      With the continued draughts of wine, the Greek and the Roman grew more talkative and noisy.

      “By Bacchus! Leander, did my ears deceive me? Didst thou say my Jewish maiden before thy song?”

      “Gently, impetuous Roman. I drank to my Jewish maiden.”

      “We shall see, O thou effeminate Greek!”

      “We shall see, then, perfidious Roman!”

      “Ha! rash dolt! We will have no Brutus here. Slaves! Chloe! Bring up my guest and introduce her.”

      At the same moment he dealt the Greek a powerful blow, which caused him to measure his length on the bear-skin rugs that were spread upon the polished, inlaid floor. Then, clapping his hands for a slave to assist him, they bore the prostrate Leander into an adjoining chamber, and deposited him upon a couch. Marcius then returned to receive the latest guest.

      While the episode just narrated had been going on, there had come floating in from a distance the tones of unseen minstrelsy—now swelling, now diminishing—in a way to hold the soul spellbound. This was an accompaniment to the nightly revelry and orgies.

      Adjoining the apartment where the comrades had held converse, and separated from it by heavy draperies, was a large banquet-room, and still beyond, the room from whence came the strains of music. Mingled with the melody and with the measured rhythm of the dance, there escaped fragments of hilarity, merrymaking, and the echo of voices in pleasing confusion.

      All the apartments and their accessories were eloquent with a voluptuous refinement. Culture, wealth, and depravity seemed here to form a close combination. The occupants evidently were of patrician blood, corrupted by luxury and sensuality, while the pictures, statuary, symbols, and images indicated СКАЧАТЬ