The Chaldean Magician
An Adventure in Rome in the Reign of the Emperor Diocletian (2025)

AN ADVENTURE IN ROME
IN THE REIGN OF THE EMPEROR DIOCLETIAN

BY
ERNST ECKSTEIN
Author of “Quintus Claudius,” etc.

From the German by MARY J. SAFFORD

NEW YORK
WILLIAM S. GOTTSBERGER, PUBLISHER
11 MURRAY STREET
1886

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1886
by William S. Gottsberger
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington

Press of
William S. Gottsberger
New York

[1]

THE CHALDEAN MAGICIAN.

CHAPTER I.

A cloudless October day, A. D. 299,was drawing to a close; the western skybehind the crest of Mt. Janiculum stillglowed with crimson light, but the populationin the streets and squares of the world’scapital were already moving in a bluishtwilight and yellow-red lamps shone, veiledby smoke, from the taverns of the many-gabledSubura.

A youth with a white toga thrown overhis shoulders, coming from the QuerquetulanianGate, turned into the Cyprian Way.His manner of walking was somewhat peculiar.Sometimes he rushed hastily forward,[2]like a man impatiently striving toreach his destination; at others he glancedhesitatingly around or stopped a few secondsas though repenting his design. Passingthe Baths of Titus he perceived, only afew yards distant, another youth who hadentered the Cyprian Way from a side streeton the left and with bowed head was pursuingthe same direction over the lavastones of the pavement. Looking moreclosely, he recognized a friend’s countenancein the new-comer’s pallid features.

It was nearly six weeks since he hadseen pleasant Lucius Rutilius; for the twoyoung men’s paths in life were entirely different.While Rutilius, the son of a wealthysenator, was fond of moving in the most selectcircles of the capital, visiting the theatres,the races and combats in the arena,and during the summer spending his timealternately at his country estate in Etruria,the waterfalls of Tibur, the shore of the[3]gulf of Baiae, or the strand of Antium,Caius Bononius, the son of a knight, led asomewhat secluded existence in the solitudeof his study, allowing himself at the utmosta short trip during the hottest months tothe world-renowned Diana’s Mirror, thelovely secluded lake in the neighboring AlbanHills, where he owned a modest littlegarden. Spite of this diversity in externalcircumstances, the two young men cherisheda deeply-rooted friendship for each other.Lucius Rutilius valued the comprehensiveknowledge, insatiable thirst for information,and proud independence possessed by CaiusBononius; while the latter knew that Rutiliusbeheld the splendor of life in the greatcapital, not with the eyes of the coarse manof pleasure, but with those of the poet; thathe revelled in the pomp of color, the luxury ofeternal Rome, as the creative artist rejoicedin the effects of light and shade in a landscape;that amid this seething whirlpool[4]he had preserved a warm heart, a nobleunselfishness of nature.

At Caius’ call Lucius Rutilius raisedhis head, covered with black, curling locks,as though startled from a deep reverie. Acrimson flush, visible even in the gatheringtwilight, mounted to his brow, as if theother had caught him in forbidden paths.

“Is it you, Bononius?” he stammered.“Are you, too, to be met in the crowd ofpedestrians? True, it’s lonely enough herein the aristocratic Cyprian Way to allowyou to indulge your taste for seclusion evenwhile walking.”

“I have really avoided all society duringthe last few weeks,” replied Caius Bononius,“strange problems have engrossed my attention.But you—what brings you, withoutany companion, to this quarter of silenceat this hour of the day? You used at thistime to be reclining at table—with rosesfrom Paestum in your hair and your glowing[5]lips pressed to an exquisitely-polished murrhinecup, if not on the neck of some radiantyoung beauty.”

Lucius blushed again.

“Things are different now,” he repliedwith his eyes bent on the ground.

“How?” asked Caius Bononius in surprise.“Has my Lucius renounced the delightsof the revel and the lustre of flower-wreathedtriclinia?”

“Not entirely—but your remark abouta young beauty—you needn’t smile, Caius!In perfect truth: during the last month achange has taken place in this respect,which—how am I to say...?”

“How are you to speak? As youthink! The confusion in your words distinctlyshows how hard you are trying toconceal rather than disclose your thoughts.Come, Lucius! Have you so completelyforgotten that we did not vow faith and[6]friendship to each other only over thegolden Falernian, that our relations have adeeper root? If things have occurred thatinfluence your character, your views of theworld, let me know what has affected you;for as a sincere, though half-superfluousfriend, I have a right to your implicit confidence.As I live, you give me the impressionthat some important matter is inquestion. Speak, my Lucius! Have you,in contradiction to your whole past, thrownyourself into the study of philosophy?Have you come in contact with some saintof the sect of the Nazarenes and thus acquireda taste for the beautiful legends ofthe East?”

“Nothing of the sort,” sighed Lucius,taking his friend by the arm and drawinghim slowly along with him in the directionof the Subura. “You will laugh at me whenyou learn how your invincible Epicureanhas fared at last.... Yes, you are right,[7]Caius; it would be foolish if I wished toconceal from you, my faithful friend, whatyour penetration would nevertheless discover.... Soknow—but don’t accuse meof weakness—I am desperately in love, notonly with my eyes, as before, but body andsoul, a second Troilus, a Leander whowould breast the surges of every sea to atlast clasp his Hero in his arms.”

“You have often talked so,” said Caiussmiling.

“Talked, but never felt. The bestproof of the genuineness of my emotions—tomyself—is the ardor with which I longto lead the beloved maiden across my thresholdas my wife. You know ‘marriage’used to be a terrible word to me, Caius:now, since I have seen Hero—her name isreally Hero, and she is the daughter of anaristocratic Sicilian—since that time I haveknown nothing sweeter than Hymen’s torch,and longingly await the moment which,[8]spite of all difficulties and disasters, must atlast unite us.”

“Difficulties?” repeated Bononius, pausing.“Does Hero deny her Leander theardently-desired love? Has the handsomeRutilius for the first time wooed in vain?”

Lucius Rutilius gazed at the westernsky as if he were examining the position ofthe stars.

“There is still time,” he murmured, thenturning to Bononius, added:

“Wooed in vain? No—yet it is almostthe same thing. Does this contradictionseem to you an enigma? If you wish,you shall learn all—only not here, wherethe passers-by are growing more numerousand a listener might misuse my words. Ihave business on the northern slope of theQuirinal in about an hour—until then letus stay in my uncle Publius Calpurnius’house, here on the right of the PatricianWay. He is Caius Decius’ guest to-day:[9]we can walk up and down the portico undisturbed—andto be frank, I long to pourout my heart to you, receive your counsel.”

Bononius hesitated. He seemed to besecretly making a hasty calculation.

“Well,” he said at last, “if it won’toccupy too much time.... You won’t takeit amiss, if I tell you that I, too, in an hourat latest....”

“Oh—I can explain everything in tenminutes.”

Turning to the right, he drew his friendalong with him, and a short time after theyknocked at the door of a spacious mansion.The porter drew back the bolt, bowed, andushered the two youths through the passageinto the atrium.

The residence of Publius Calpurniuswas one of the huge, luxurious edifices,which seemed to vie in extent with the immensepalaces erected by the emperor Diocletian[10]in Salona and Nicomedia. Of nounusual external magnificence and with amoderate façade, it developed directly behindthe atrium the most surprising size,stretching on the right and left over theground naturally belonging to the neighboringhouses and spreading towards theslope of the hill. Caius Bononius, whoalmost intentionally avoided the homesof Roman grandees, often as Lucius—atleast in former days—had endeavoredto draw his friend into the life and bustleof the capital, scanned with surprise andcuriosity the magnificently-decorated structure,the halls of the two court-yardswhere a dozen gaily-clad slaves werejust lighting the candelabra, the brilliant-huedpaintings on the walls, the portrait-statues—menin somewhat un-Romansleeved garments, and women with extremelyrealistic styles of hair-dressingwhich looked as if the latest coiffure of a[11]fashionable visitor to the circus had servedthe sculptor for a model.

In fact, Lucius asserted that these stylesof arranging the hair were removable, andcould be taken from the statues’ heads andexchanged for modern ones as fashion required—atriumph of the plastic art, as heironically added.

So they walked through the second pillaredcourt-yard to the garden. The duskyavenues of trees, whose spreading boughsstill permitted enough of the fading daylightto enter to reveal the box-bordered gravelledpaths, invited thoughtful, pleasant strolls,and the watchman at the back of the houseafforded a sufficient guarantee that no intruderwould steal after the youths.

[12]

CHAPTER II.

“At the end of last month,” LuciusRutilius began, “Hero had firmly resolvedto unite her life with mine. I made her acquaintanceat Tibur, where her father hadpurchased Junius’ Gellius’ villa—it adjoinsmy own, you know—after the death of itsfirst owner. Wandering through the park, Isaw the bewitching girlish figure on the oppositeside of the wall that divides Gellius’grounds from mine. Hero was standing inthe shade of a laurel-bush, her fair hairadorned simply with a rose, scattering withher dainty little hands crumbs or corn,which she held gathered in her robe, to afluttering cloud of sparrows. Concealedbehind the pedestal of a goddess of autumn,I could watch her quietly without havingmy presence suspected.

[13]

“Ah, my dear Caius, I should vainly tryto describe the subtle charm, childlike innocence,and enchanting grace revealed to mein that quarter of an hour! How shechatted with her protégés, repelled the boldand encouraged the timid ones, how shejested and laughed, how her loose tunicslipped from her snowy shoulder—it wasbewitching! In short, those fifteen minutesdecided my fate. For the first time duringa life of twenty-six years I experienced atthe sight of a girl who charmed me a feelingof sacred reserve, a sort of reverencethat made any wanton thought seem acrime. In my ardent dreams, which instantlytwined with eager longing aroundthis lovely apparition, I saw her only as thepresiding mistress of my house, the ruler ofmy life....”

“It really appears to be a seriousmatter,” murmured Caius Bononius. “Doesthe night-breeze rustling through the boughs[14]deceive me, or what is it that makes yourvoice tremble so?”

“Do not doubt!” replied Rutilius.“What I feel for Hero is sacred enough tofill my heart with the emotions that seizedevout worshippers at the presence of thegoddess. Now hear the rest. Wholly absorbedby one thought, I returned to thehouse and pondered in solitude over theproblem how I might succeed in reachingthe desired goal. Usually—as you know—Iwas not embarrassed when in the societyof beautiful girls and women; but here theoften-tested art of crafty plans seemed toleave me in the lurch. After twenty absurdlytasteless ideas I resolved to ask Agathon—whoalso lived at Tibur—to takeme with him as an uninvited guest to thenext banquet given by her father, Heliodorus.A pretended desire to talk with himabout the sale of a small grove would servefor an excuse. Agathon cast a strange[15]glance at me when I informed him of mywish. Perhaps this sort of introduction wasnot the best, though I thought it so; foryou, too, will some day learn, spite of allthe wisdom that now fills your soul, that lovemakes even the most experienced peopleunskilful.”

“On the contrary,” replied Bononius,“I believe great passions render us inventive.”

“We won’t argue the point. Inventiveperhaps in what is decisive, but foolish inevery other respect.—Agathon consented,and on the third day the opportunity offered.Heliodorus received me with the mannersof a polished man of the world, greeting meas a neighbor whose acquaintance he hadlong desired to make. As to the grove,about which I incoherently stammered afew words, he would consider the matter,and if he could really oblige me, wouldwillingly make a sacrifice.

[16]

“The banquet passed without my evenobtaining a glimpse of the object of my ardentlonging; yet I might well be satisfied.From this hour the wall between our twoestates was as it were demolished; an intercoursebegan, which after a short timedeveloped into friendly relations, and nowof course Hero, who had retired from thesight of the guests at the noisy drinking-bout,was visible at any hour of the day tothe neighbor who came as it were clad in atunic,[1] to see her father.

“Let me say nothing about how it allhappened. A hundred details graduallywove the certainty that the worthy Sicilian’sdaughter favored me, and one evening inthe park, on the very spot under the laurel-bushwhere I had first beheld her, I kissedthe words of consent from her quiveringlips.

“Those were happy days, Bononius![17]We still kept our love concealed; not thatwe had reason to doubt her father’s consent,but there was an indescribable charmin this mystery; I might say: we feared toprofane our happiness, if we should drawaside the veil too soon. True, our relationsdid not wholly escape the excellent Heliodorus’notice. More than once, while wanderingby Hero’s side through the colonnadesof the peristyle, I met his sympathizingsmile, which seemed to say: ‘Friend,I see through you, but am not angered byyour secret suit.’

“Then one evening—we had formedthe resolution the day before to appear onthe following Friday, October 1st, Heliodorus’birthday, hand in hand before him andreveal everything—Hero received me withan agitated expression that greatly alarmedme. Her father had gone to Rome onbusiness and was not expected to return tilllate. Hero had been alone all day with[18]Lydia, a young relative with whom she waseducated, had refused old Septimia, hergrey-haired confidante, admission to herapartments, neglected to eat, and did notdress until the hour I usually came, whenshe waited for me on the stone bench underthe colonnade of the peristyle. Lydia—acharming creature, by the way, only she remindsone a little too much of our highly-paintedfashionable ladies to compare withHero’s divine simplicity—was sitting besideher when I entered. My sweet, sorrowfullove was holding a triangular paperin her hand; Lydia, frowning, clenched inher dainty fist a parchment covered with redletters. After long questioning I learnedthe following details.

“The two girls were walking in thegrounds just after sunrise, as they usuallydid in the morning. Suddenly a hideously-uglyold woman, dressed in rags, stood beforethe unsuspecting maidens, called three[19]times in a shrill voice, with the expressionof a Gorgon, a prophetic ‘woe!’, threw aroll at my trembling Hero’s feet, and hastilyvanished.

“The girls, as if spellbound by this mysteriousapparition, took the roll from theground and untied its fastenings. Thecontents consisted of a written parchmentand a triangular piece of blank paper.The purport of the parchment was as follows:

“‘Olbasanus the Chaldean, the investigatorof the future and warner of blindedhumanity, writes this to Hero, the daughterof Heliodorus. The gods have announcedto us that, inflamed with love for LuciusRutilius, you cherish the design of acceptinghim for a husband. Olbasanus warnsyou against this intention, for his eye hasread in the stars what horrible misfortunesthreaten you and yours, especially LuciusRutilius himself, if you carry out your resolve.[20]As you might not believe my warning,I send you with this letter a sacred leaffrom the book of the god Amun. Carry thepage to the hearth, lay it on the stone flags,but so that the flames cannot reach it; bowthrice with clasped hands and await the divinerevelation. Amun himself, with invisiblefinger, will write upon this pagefrom his book and announce what is impendingif you despise his sacred will.’

“This was the purport of the parchmentLydia convulsively clenched in herfingers.”

During the last few moments Caius Bononiushad pressed his friend’s arm moreclosely and showed other tokens of increasinginterest.

“Olbasanus?” he now asked, as LuciusRutilius paused a moment to take breath.“The Chaldean on the Quirinal?”

“The same. His name had alreadyreached my ears, but I now learned for the[21]first time his ghost-like influence and hispower.”

“Go on! go on!” urged Bononius.

“Well,” continued the other, “thispaper had been enough to throw the twogirls into the utmost excitement. Lydia—anexception to her sex—had hithertomade no attempt to pry into her friend’ssecret, although she, too, had long sinceperceived our relations. Now, when theaffair was so suddenly and unexpectedly revealed,she forgot the usual questions,amazement, congratulations. In her heartfeltanxiety she pressed into the rooms occupiedby the head cook, impetuously sent awayall the slaves, and told her friend to dowhat Olbasanus had directed. Hero, almostbereft of her senses, bowed thrice overthe mysterious page and, after a fewseconds, perceived with mysterious horrorthe black characters that were to announcewhat barred her happiness. She read: ‘To[22]the father, madness, to the daughter, blindness,to Lucius Rutilius, death.’”

“Unprecedented!” cried Caius Bononius.“And a strange coincidence!”

“What do you mean by that?” askedRutilius.

“Afterwards, my dear fellow! Let mefirst hear the end of your adventure! True,I scarcely need an explanation of the resultof the affair. What reply did you makewhen the young girls had shown you thepage from the book of Amun?”

“I tried to doubt—but the spectralletters and my sorrowful Hero’s troubledeyes spoke only too distinctly. The factthat this was some strange marvel, an inexplicablemiracle, apparently sent by thegods themselves—never wavered. At firstI was painfully moved, but in the course ofour conversation, as Hero seemed to growcalmer, I regained a certain degree of confidence,and when in the middle of the first[23]vigil[2] I entered my house, was disposed,spite of the still unsolved enigma, to regardthe whole matter rather as a strange adventurethan a misfortune.

“The next day was to undeceive me bitterly.Going into the street at the time ofthe second breakfast, I saw two large travelling-carriagesbefore the door of the nexthouse. As I was about to ask one of theslaves who held the horses the object ofthese preparations, Heliodorus and the twoyoung girls crossed the threshold. TheSicilian greeted me and said that he was onhis way, with Hero and Lydia, to bid mefarewell. Hero, who, as I knew, was alittle tyrant, had suddenly declared that shedetested Tibur from the very bottom of hersoul and longed to go back to Rome, so asit was now so late in the season that he,Heliodorus, had no real reason for opposing[24]this wish, he had decided with his usualpromptness.

“Of course I knew that Hero’s suddenlyawakened longing was connected with Olbasanus.She wanted to seek him, learnfarther particulars about the strange prophecy,and if possible appease by prayers andsacrifices the hostile powers that opposedour happiness.

“Ere fifteen minutes had passed thewhole party, including old Septimia andsome of the household slaves, were seatedamong the cushions, and preceded by threehorsemen, rolling along the road to Rome.

“You will not be surprised, dear Bononius,when I tell you that I, too, leftTibur that very day and returned to theseven-hilled city. With a heavy heart Iapproached the next morning the superbHellenic dwelling on the northern side ofthe Caelian Hill, occupied by Heliodorus.The Sicilian received me cordially and[25]kindly, though with a somewhat anxiousair. Seating myself by his side, I learnedthat Hero seemed to be ill. Shortly afterher arrival she had entered her litter, accompaniedby Lydia, returning at a latehour with every sign of agitation. Sincethen she had lain dejectedly on her couch,scarcely answering a question, but gazingfixedly, with a pallid face, into vacancy.Once she had burst into violent sobs, herwhole frame shaken by emotion; then increaseddepression and exhaustion followeduntil at last, long after midnight, she fellasleep.

“Of course I guessed what had happened.Hero had been to Olbasanus andhad heard from the soothsayer’s lips thesame thing the inscription had predicted.Nay, it seemed as if the manner of this confirmationhad been far more terrible and demoniacthan the first warning by the pagefrom the book of the god Amun. I was[26]utterly at a loss and, stammering my regretin incoherent words, left the house, beggingthe Sicilian to inform me when his daughter’shealth was so far restored that I mightrepeat my visit without being intrusive.

“On the next evening,” continued Rutilius,—“itwas the very Friday we hadchosen for the disclosure of our secret, butin my excitement I had entirely forgottenHeliodorus’ birthday—I received a fewlines from Hero that almost drove me todespair.

“‘We must part,’ she wrote, ‘part forever.I had hoped the cruel warning thatterrified me at Tibur was only the expressionof some hidden resentment whichmight be appeased. But now I know thatthe gods themselves bar our way with theirdestroying curse. I have visited Olbasanustwice: day before yesterday at the dinnerhour and yesterday at the commencementof the first vigil. This man—do not doubt[27]it—holds intercourse with the gods, demons,and the dead; he has been givenpower over all the realms of spirits! I haveheard it with these ears, seen it with theseeyes! When, after manifold proofs of hisomnipotence, I still doubted—alas, onlybecause I shrank from despair—at a signfrom the terrible man the goddess of death,Hecate herself, appeared to me in theclouds of the night heavens, and in a voicelike the roaring of the storm, repeated theawful words I had read on the page ofAmun. We must part, Lucius, not for mysake—oh! how gladly would I bear thecurse of blindness, if I might win in you ahigher, purer light—but for yours, to whomcruel Hecate predicts death, and for love ofmy dear father, whose mind is threatenedwith darkness. Farewell, dear Lucius!May you learn to forget more easily thanI!’

“These were the words engraved upon[28]my heart in indelible, torturing characters,as if written by a red-hot stylus. I nowlearned from my slave Gaipor, that Olbasanuswas really considered by thousandsof people the most powerful conjurer amongall the Chaldeans of the seven-hilled city.Gaipor himself, before I bought him, hadbeen sent to the magician by his mistress,a lady from Neapolis, to enquire about thefuture, and had beheld with his own eyes,like Hero, the terrible apparition of Hecate,who, surrounded by flames, soared acrossthe starry sky. You know, Caius, I amnot very credulous. I’ve often laughed atour augurs[3] and soothsayers, and paid thehomage of my sincere respect to that generalin the time of the Republic, who whenthe sacred chickens would not eat, flungthem into the sea. But here convictionpressed upon me with such power that Isuccumbed to its force....”

[29]

“Hecate!” murmured Caius Bononius.“This marvel was attested to me also, notby one or two persons who had beheld it,but by twenty. Know, Rutilius, that formonths I have been reckoning what thisOlbasanus accomplishes by means of hisleague with gods and demons.... But youhad not finished your story. Go on, Lucius;but make haste!”

“I have finished,” replied the youth.“There’s only one thing more to add.Amid the dull, heart-corroding grief thatmastered me, the desire to visit in the hallof his incantations, the man who had destroyedmy future—though with kind intentions—dailybecame more uncontrollable.I, too, wished to ask the terriblequeen of the underworld a question.Every effort to see my beloved Hero againwas unavailing. Heliodorus, too, seemedcompletely transformed—his frank bearinghad become so timid and constrained. The[30]impossibility of speaking to Hero, or evenLydia, drove me to carry my desire intoexecution. Nay, I conquered my repugnanceto any contact with the supernatural—andnow, oh! Caius, you behold me onmy way to Olbasanus, firmly resolved tosee with my own eyes what the gods haveallotted and at least to bear away the oneconsolation that lies in the consciousness ofimmutability and eternally predestined fate.”

“On your way to Olbasanus!” criedCaius Bononius passionately. “Well, then,let us not delay! I, too, am about to seekhim. I sent my Glabrio yesterday, andOlbasanus appointed the second hour aftersunset....”

“You, too?” asked Lucius in surprise.

“Yes, I, too—though from different motives,my dear Rutilius. I am a philosopher,you know. For years I have searchedand investigated; I am acquainted with themanifold appearances of animate and inanimate[31]nature; I don’t believe in this conjuror’swonderful phantasmagoria. No matter,the testimony of many truthful men liesbefore us, I cannot doubt that they havefaithfully and honestly related what theyheard and saw. So a torturing contradictionresults. Either I am mistaken in denying,with Pliny and Lucretius, the interferenceof demons in the affairs of men, or allthese truthful people deceive themselvesand are the victims of base, unprincipledfraud. Impelled by my curiosity, I am determined,so far as possible, to decide thisquestion one way or another. So come,that I may not miss the hour Olbasanus hasappointed.”

Lucius Rutilius felt a thrill of joyful fear.A gleam of hope flashed through his soul,for his friend’s words, spite of their measuredreserve, expressed strong confidence.

“Let us hurry!” he said, trembling withimpatience.

[32]

So the two friends went back into thehouse, and passing around the Viminal Hillby the side of the Tullian wall, turnedtowards Olbasanus’ dwelling.

[33]

CHAPTER III.

Not far from the enormous Baths whichthe Emperor Diocletian,—as if to atone forpreferring to reside in Nicomedia or Salonarather than in Rome,—had had built on thenortheastern slope of the Viminal as far asthe spot where the height merges into theQuirinal, there stood near the Collina Gatea singular structure, almost recalling in theponderous splendor of its brilliantly-paintedfaçade the royal palaces of Assyria andPersia, yet as fresh and new as if it hadjust emerged from the hands of architect andworkmen, an architectural embodiment ofthe taste of an age which had a fancy forcleverly imitating the style of by-gonetimes, not only in the weak creations of adegenerate literature, but in other departmentsof human activity.

[34]

True, in this instance it had not been thearchitect’s whim or his employer’s taste,but a definite, practical purpose that hadreplaced the simple façade of the Romandwelling by this fantastic luxury of theEast. Behind the ponderous pillars adornedwith heads of animals, Olbasanus, the Chaldeanenchanter and conjuror of evil spirits,the declared favorite of the Roman ladies,practised his mysterious arts,—and thus theexterior of the spacious structure harmonizedwith the strange events that occurredwithin. The foreign aspect of the frontmight be regarded as a preparation for thechosen ones whom Olbasanus permitted tocross the threshold of his secret sanctuary.

Lucius Rutilius and Caius Bononiusreached the door at the very moment it wasopened from within, allowing a tall, thinfigure, wrapped in a thick paenula, to passinto the street. Spite of the mild weather,[35]the stranger had drawn over his head thehood worn as a protection from the rain.

Stepping a little aside, the two youthsmade room for the disguised figure.

“I ought to know that gait and bearing,”said Lucius Rutilius, looking after thehurrying form; but he vainly strove torecollect. Meantime the porter had notclosed the door, but holding a lantern ofchased silver with panes of oiled papyrus,admitted the two visitors.

Caius Bononius gave him a silver coinand asked if the Chaldean could be seen,according to his appointment.

The porter beckoned to one of theseven bearded Ethiopians who, clad in longrobes confined around the hips by widegirdles inscribed with strange characters,stood waiting at the entrance of the corridor,and the man thus summoned silentlyled the new arrivals through the wainscotedante-room. As he moved forward almost[36]without a sound, the train of his cowl-likerobe rustling softly over the floor, holdingin his right hand a torch that cast spectralshadows on the countless joints and projectionsof the masonry, he himself seemeda supernatural being, well calculated tomake a mysterious, agitating impressionupon sensitive souls. The way led througha double row of short, heavy columns to astaircase whose basalt steps extendeddownward to a subterranean passage, justhigh enough to permit a tall man to walkupright under the ragged arch cut in theforms of stalactites. The smoke from thetorch floated in horrible shapes along theroof. A heavy, oppressive atmosphere prevailed.On the right and left, in blackcavities, lay an endless number of skulls.After a time the corridor turned; a secondgallery opened, from which branched a thirdand fourth. At last the young men lost allidea of the direction in which they were[37]going. Lucius Rutilius thought they musthave long since reached the other side ofthe hill; Caius Bononius, on the contrary,was disposed to believe that the staircasewhich now led them into a spacious, dimly-lightedroom, was not very far from theentrance flight at the end of the pillaredcorridor.

The apartment they entered was a masterpiecein the effective use of architectural,plastic, and decorative ornament. Whenthe Ethiopian had retired with his blazingtorch and let down the iron trap-door at thetop of the stairs, the two youths at firstsupposed themselves to be in total darkness.True, a tiny pale-blue flame wasburning at the back of the room in a candelabrumabout the height of a man; butthe rays it shed through the vast chamberwere not sufficient to show eyes dazzledby the torch-glare anything more than theglimmering outlines of huge, ponderous[38]masses. By degrees, however, their visionbecame accustomed to this feeble light, andCaius and Lucius discovered the ellipticalarrangements of huge pillars, behind whichran a deep corridor that looked almostblack. Only a pallid glimmer between theshadows of the columns showed that onthe other side of this corridor extended awall, following the line of the room within.Twelve of the pillars—that is, one-third ofthe whole number—which were directlyopposite to the entrance, were artisticallydraped with countless floating black hangings,between which hung all kinds ofchains, cords for suspending lamps, andother accessories, carefully arranged in sucha manner as not to weaken the impressionof height and space.

The ceiling of the room was slightlyarched, but its construction, owing to theextreme height, could not be distinguished.At the end of the apartment, in front of the[39]candelabrum, was a large square altar, alsohung with dark cloth. Tripods, brazenmonopodia[4] covered with all kinds ofstrange utensils, low stools, and various unrecognizablearticles were arranged in symmetricalorder on both sides. In the centreof the floor lay a rug about thirty feetsquare, painted or interwoven with mysteriousfigures; on each corner stood a candlestickeven taller than the candelabrum atthe end.

The young men had about five minutes’time in which to examine their surroundingsby the dim light of the livid flame, thenthere was a sound like the distant notes ofan Aeolian harp and, without their knowinghow and whence he came, Olbasanus stoodbehind the cloth-draped altar.

“You do not come alone, Caius Bononius!”he said, in a musical voice. “Nomatter—I know. Most mortals cherish[40]scruples about approaching, relying solelyon their own strength, the rooms where thegods are to reveal themselves directly andindirectly. Let your companion, whoeverhe may be, also draw near; his quiet, devoutpresence will not disturb the Chaldean’swork.”

“You are mistaken, Olbasanus,” repliedCaius Bononius, “the person accompanyingme is the one who longs to address a questionto the goddess. I, Caius Bononius,only sent my messenger to you in behalf ofthis youth; for, I confess, I never felt a desireto lift the veil from the future.”

“I am mistaken,” replied Olbasanus.“That is the lot of all human beings, andmine also, so long as I speak to you onlyas a feeble and perishable man. The favorof the gods, when I appeal to them, firstcasts into my soul the light that renders anyerror impossible. Well! Olbasanus is disposedto grant your wish, though as a man[41]he cannot understand what could induceyou to use this evasion.”

“The reasons are of small importance,”replied Bononius.

“Then you probably desire to haveyour companion’s name remain concealedfrom the prophet?”

Caius Bononius exchanged a hastyglance with his friend, then turning toOlbasanus, replied:

“If it is agreeable to you, yes!”

The Chaldean seemed to hesitate a fewseconds.

“Greater power is required of the magician’sart when the questioner conceals hisname,” he said slowly; “but since youearnestly desire....”

“We beseech it!” replied Bononius.

The Chaldean now came with measuredpace from behind the altar.

“Granted!” he said solemnly.

Then he stretched out his hand, in[42]which gleamed a small ivory wand. Instantlythe spacious room glowed with alight as bright as that of day. Lamps notonly burned in all the candelabra—but evenbetween the pillars flames seemed to springfrom the ground; shallow vessels appearedin which jets of light blazed steadily.

The two youths were almost blinded bythe spectacle of this transformation. Luciuspressed his hand to his brow as if bewildered;Caius stood motionless, apparentlyscrutinizing, considering, examining. Atlast a smile of satisfaction flitted over hisface. He seemed to have found the solutionof this enigma, while Rutilius was stillenthralled by the impression the miracleproduced.

“Approach,” said the Chaldean in sonoroustones. “Stranger, what do you desireto know?”

Again the youths exchanged a glance;then Rutilius said:

[43]

“I would fain learn what the gods haveallotted to me, in case I fulfil the mostmomentous and important design of mylife.”

Olbasanus delayed his answer as before.At last he replied:

“I fear that is more vague than the godspermit. Can you not put your questionmore clearly; mention, without reserve, thedesign of which you speak?”

Rutilius felt Bononius secretly touch hisarm.

“No,” he said quietly. “I beg you totry whether an answer cannot be obtained,even without a more exact definition.”

Olbasanus looked upward. A ray like aflash of lightning darted down.

“Granted,” he said, turning to Rutilius.“By all the terrors of the nether world, youare a favorite of the gods; they bestowsuch marked kindness only on the chosenones whom they wish to bless. They[44]usually punish distrust of their interpreterby perpetual silence.”

The two youths were growing more excitedevery instant; Lucius, because theChaldean’s grave, dignified manner seemeda warrant for the earnestness and truth ofwhat he was about to announce; CaiusBononius, because he was greatly disappointed,—hehad been perfectly sure themagician would say that Lucius’ wish wasnot allowable.

Olbasanus now touched the altar withhis wand. A clear note, like that producedby striking metal, echoed through theroom, and a boy clad in white enteredthrough the curtains at the right. He carrieda brazier filled with red-hot coals,which he placed on one of the brass stoolsbeside Olbasanus.

“Bring in the victim,” said the Chaldean.

The lad withdrew. Olbasanus seized a[45]shovel, filled it with burning coals and carriedit to one of the tripods, on which hecarefully spread them, then returning tothe altar raised his hands.

“Hecate!” he said in a hollow tone,“Mistress of the Nether World, Princess ofDarkness and Shadows, Ruler of Demonsand Departed Spirits, omnipotent, awfulgoddess! Neither primeval fate, nor anyof the higher gods opposes what we design.So I implore thee to graciously grant whatOlbasanus timidly whispers. Disclose thefuture to this youth, quench his thirst forthe unfathomable, fill his eyes with clearvision, and teach him what ghosts anddemons from east to west impart to thee.If thou art disposed to favor him who, likeso many hundred others, appeals to thee,stir thy sacred element; let thy spirit fanthe fiery flame and animate it with thy immortalbreath!”

After these words he advanced a few[46]steps to the tripod and gazed intently atthe glowing coals. Lucius and Caius hadalso approached. Suddenly the bits of coalbegan to move slowly. There was a surgingand seething, as if the force of someunknown vitality pervaded the blazingbrands, until at last the movements grewweaker and finally ceased.

The Chaldean stepped back, folded hisarms, and bowed.

The white-robed boy now appeared,leading a black lamb by a rope that glistenedlike silver. Binding the animal firmlyto the altar, he approached the two youthsand offered them an onyx dish. His attitudewas unmistakable. Lucius took somegold coins from the purse hanging at hisbelt and placed them in the vessel. Theboy thanked him and again retired behindthe curtain.

Olbasanus, holding his magic wand inhis right hand and pressing the left on his[47]heart, lowered his eyes, saying to LuciusRutilius:

“Kneel, my son. According to ancientcustom we will slaughter a black animal tothe goddess of the Under World. Praythat the holy rite may succeed! The entrailsof the beast, inspired by Hecate’sdivine breath, will announce to us what weare striving to know—not in mysterioussymbols, which require interpretation, butin plain characters that are familiar tohuman eyes. Victim of Hecate, die!”

He raised the wand over his head. Theblack lamb fell as if struck by lightning.Directly after, two attendants on the sacrificialrites appeared—pallid youths cladin Greek chitons and Persian trousers, withgay kerchiefs bound about their heads.

“Stranger,”—Olbasanus turned to Lucius,—“approachand touch the animal whichhas succumbed to the attack of my helpfuldemons.”

[48]

Lucius Rutilius, who was growing moretimid and faint-hearted every moment, advanced.The animal’s limbs were alreadystiff. As the youth grasped the woollyfleece, the lamb’s head fell back, showingthe glazed eyes.

The attendants removed the rug fromthe altar-slab and laid the victim on it;while Lucius Rutilius held the beast’s forefootclasped in his left hand, one of theyouths gave the Chaldean the knife. Thelamb was opened and Olbasanus, mutteringall sorts of magic formulas, removed theheart and the liver. The next moment theanimal was taken away and the altarcleansed from the blood by large linencloths dyed black.

Olbasanus held the heart and liver inhis outstretched left hand until the slaveshad put a brazen plate on the altar, thenlaying the entrails on the metal, he wavedhis wand and said to Lucius:

[49]

“Approach and read!”

At these words a sound like the roll ofthunder echoed through the room. LuciusRutilius, with a throbbing heart, bent overthe plate. There, in the centre of the still-smokingliver, appeared in distinct Greekletters:

ΘΑΝΑΤΟΣ—Death.

The young patrician staggered back.

“Death!” he murmured, as if benumbed.

Caius Bononius had also advanced toread the large, somewhat irregular charactersof the prophecy. Panting for breath,he gnawed his lips, frowned, and clenchedhis fist, as if he needed some physicalmeans to help him resist the impression ofthis incomprehensible miracle. He acknowledgedto himself that he lacked any explanationfor it; yet his clear, unprejudicedreason rebelled against what his eyes could[50]not deny. He touched the writing with hisfinger—it did not wipe off. That Olbasanushad not written it himself, either beforeor while he placed the liver on the metalplate, Caius Bononius could swear by allthe gods. Already a troubled “If it shouldbe true?” was darting through his mind,when glancing aside he detected the almostimperceptible smile with which the magicianwas watching the sceptical examination ofthe inscription. To the young man’s penetrationthis smile contained a singular meaning.It was not the lofty expression of pityand divinely-bestowed power, which in thefull possession of its sacred might looks condescendinglydown upon the bewildereddoubter; but the crafty smile of the Greekwho has succeeded in defrauding his foe of apiece in the game of draughts, or the daringadventurer who has accomplished a bolddeed and successfully effaced every trace ofhis action. Thus, in this strange fashion,[51]the philosopher, where logic left him in thelurch, drew fresh power of resistance fromthe domain of feeling; the instinct that ledhim to consider the affair trivial becausethe person was suspicious.

“Do you still doubt, Caius?” whisperedLucius with quivering lips. “Come; Iknow enough now. How I shall bear itremains in the hands of the gods.”

“I doubt more than ever,” replied Bononius.“The day will come when I shallunravel this mystery. Now, I beseech you,don’t desert me and above all yourself andyour hopes so unceremoniously. Put morequestions to him, ask for other signs! Theysay he makes the goddess’s voice speakfrom a skull; and Heliodorus’ daughter herselfwrote to you that the magician broughtHecate’s flaming form from the night-heavens.Outweigh his marvels with gold, butlet him do what he can, for the sake of truthand the prosperity of your happy future. I[52]now long more than ever to behold—andbe able to despise—all his arts.”

“You are blaspheming, Caius!” said thestartled Lucius. “Suppose the terrible goddess,the destroyer of my life, should punishyou!”

“Punish me? For what? If it is she,she ought to be grateful to me for revealingthe abuse of her name; but it is not, otherwiseshe would have dragged yonder fellowinto the eternal gulf long ago.”

A pause ensued. Olbasanus seemed tobe secretly gloating over the impression hisprophecy had produced on the two youngmen, for he imagined that Caius Bononius’swhispered words were the expression ofwondering anxiety.

“The Mistress of Night has prophesieddeath to me,” Rutilius at last began. “Butone thing still weighs on my mind. May Ibe permitted to question farther?”

“Question,” replied Olbasanus.

[53]

“Then I would fain know whether thisdestiny can be averted by no sacrifice, nodeed of expiation. If it is in your power,let me learn this. Implore the goddess topronounce the oracle to the questioner inher own terrible voice.”

As before the Chaldean looked upward;as before lightning flashed; and raising hiswand he exclaimed:

“Granted!”

Again he drew from the altar the mysteriousmetallic sound that summoned thewhite-robed boy. At an unintelligible orderfrom the Chaldean, the lad went to amonopodium that stood near and took fromit a little casket set with gems, which heplaced beside the magician. Then the onyxvessel again appeared, and Lucius Rutilius’sgold coins fell rattling within. Directlyafter the dark curtain between the two pillarsbehind the altar was drawn aside, revealinga semicircular niche lighted by a[54]bluish lamp. The wizard took from thecasket a small vessel, whose contents heburned on the brazier of coals. A fragrantsmoke rose to the ceiling, and at the samemoment all the lights went out except thebluish lamp, whose glimmering rays showeda grinning skull on the floor of the niche.

Olbasanus beckoned to the questioner.Resting both hands on the altar, LuciusRutilius was to gaze into the ghostly nicheand hear the decree of the terrible goddess.As Caius Bononius also wished to see andhear, he, too, was obliged to grasp the edgeof the altar with his right hand.

“Be silent and vanish, ye spirits anddemons,” the Chaldean now began in amysterious tone. “Be silent and vanish,for Hecate, the Inscrutable, will herselfspeak to this creature of the dust throughthe symbol of her omnipotence, the skull onthe floor of her sanctuary. The fleshless,brainless skeleton, once the seat of thought,[55]the extinct lamp of a long-forgotten humanlife, will serve the Invisible One for an abodewhen she rises from the depths of thenether-world. Announce to me, OmnipotentOne, has the breath of thy divine lifeentered this mouldering shell?”

A hollow, horrible: “Thou sayest it,”echoed from the lofty forehead of theskull.

Lucius Rutilius started violently. CaiusBononius thought himself deceived in thedirection from which the voice came, andleaning forward listened breathlessly.

Olbasanus had bowed his face upon thealtar, as if the presence of the immortalgoddess bent his head in timid reverence.Now he slowly rose.

“Be merciful unto us, Thou Mistress ofall!” he said, extending his hands towardsthe niche as if imploring protection. “Thisyouth desires to know whether the destinythy sternness predicts is as inevitable as a[56]decree of fate, and if not—what he mustdo to avert the terrible doom.”

After a pause the voice again echoedfrom the skull: “His fate is inevitable if heexecutes what he has planned,” came fromthe horrible cavity in a whisper so distinctthat even Bononius could no longer doubt.“In resignation lies the sole salvation of hislife. This, Hecate, who removes all thather breath has touched, announces to him.”

With these words a terrible peal ofthunder resounded through the hall. Theskull in the niche began to stir, and—incrediblemarvel—grow smaller, like a cloudin the evening sky which gradually melts intonothing. The two young men gazedfixedly at the mysterious phenomenon.Two minutes more, and the skull had entirelyvanished from the shining floor—ithad not sunk into the earth, but, as it were,fallen to pieces, blown away, dissolved insmoke like a phantom.

[57]

When Caius Bononius looked up, he sawhis friend lying apparently lifeless on thealtar steps.

“It is all over,” he murmured, pale withhorror, as Bononius touched him on theshoulder.

For a time Caius left the sorrowingyouth to his despair. Olbasanus, who wasprobably accustomed to such scenes, waitedsilently a few steps off.

“Lucius,” the young sage began after alittle hesitation, “consider only one thing!The gods, if they exist, must be regardedas the incarnation of everything that is sublime.But the nobler, purer, and thereforemore akin to the gods a man’s nature is, themore decidedly he is repelled by the horribleand ghostly. The very idea of divinities,even of a deity ruling the realm ofdeath, forbids us to believe incidents suchas we have just witnessed to be the expressionof their will. I, too, cannot guess this[58]Chaldean’s enigmas; but I doubt with allthe power of my mind that they are whathe declares them to be. Do you also doubt,Lucius! Own to him that you do; don’tspare your money, and ask fresh testimony.Your Hero, you said, saw the goddess ofdeath; do you, too, request a sight of her,in order either to believe implicitly or findthe lever by which you can overthrow allthese incomprehensible things.”

This time there was some delay beforeLucius Rutilius could be persuaded. But atlast, becoming more and more influencedby his friend’s calmness, he yielded andmade the request Bononius directed.

Olbasanus’s penetration had long sinceanticipated this turn of affairs. He silentlyled the two youths through half-a-dozenpaths running in different directions acrossthe dark park. Situated on a gently-risinghill, the magician’s garden covered a squareof several hundred feet, which was enclosed[59]like a sanctuary by walls almost as high asa house, and overgrown with ivy and otherclimbing vines. Here and there fountainsplayed in alabaster basins; strange statues,looking like pallid shades in the starlight ofthe moonless night, stood like spectralguards amid the shrubbery. Ancient evergreen-oaksand plane-trees spread theirmany-branching crowns.

In the centre of the grounds was a circleabout sixty yards in diameter. Herethe magician paused with his companions.

“Your wish is a presumptuous one!”he said to Lucius Rutilius. “Only in rarecases does the goddess grant so insolent adesire. But you, I repeat, seem to bechosen as an object of her special favor.Hecate”—he folded his arms across hisbreast—“wills it, and will appear to you.Nay, she will even tolerate the presence ofhim who stands as a sympathizing friend byyour side. But—I warn you! Remember[60]Semele, who wished to behold Zeus in allhis Olympian majesty and was consumedin anguish in his arms. True, death anddestruction will not come to you from thesight of the Inscrutable One, for she appearsof her own free will, not constrainedby any oath binding upon the gods. Buteven thus the vision will confuse your mindand senses, stir your heart with dread andhorror. Surrounded by scorching flamesshe will cross the starry sky, visible only toyour eyes and mine, and overwhelming awewill stream from her shoulders like rainfrom a thunder-cloud. Never will you beable to efface this terrible spectacle fromyour memory. Therefore, do not brave thecrushing vision too long! As soon as youhave once beheld it, bow your head in reverenceand hide your face with your tremblinghands. No question to the Immortal Oneis needed. Her voice has already announcedthat your destiny is fixed; therefore[61]she will come from the left, from theregions of the west; and flame across tothe east. If her own favor and mercycould avert this fate—and she alone in rarecases can loose bonds the fettered one himselfcould rend by no sacrifice, no atonement—shewould rise from the right likethe sun and vanish towards the left. Now,—areyou prepared?”

“We are,” replied Rutilius.

Olbasanus threw himself on the ground.Gently striking his forehead thrice againstthe hard trodden earth, he cried in a toneof despairing fervor:

“Hecate, Princess of the Nether World,Mistress of all that has breath, show thyselfto the eyes of this chosen youth,and, if it is possible for thee, rise from theregions of the east.”

Suddenly a strange, ghostly rustlingechoed on the air, a whirring like the distantsound of mighty wings. A blazing[62]fiery glare flamed in the sky—but fromthe west. The apparition crossed the heavenswith furious speed,—half concealed bythe boughs of a row of lofty elms.

“Hide your faces, unhappy men!” theChaldean had shouted at the first ray oflight, and in tones so sharp, so full of realterror, that Lucius Rutilius involuntarilyobeyed.

Even Caius Bononius had shrunk backand did not look up fairly and steadily untilthe fiery vision had already sunk far in theeast behind the dark horizon.

Lucius Rutilius, half fainting with excitement,was led away by Olbasanus andCaius Bononius. The Chaldean interrupteda question from the latter by the quietremark:

“The time Olbasanus placed at yourdisposal has long since elapsed. Othergrief-laden mortals are already impatientlyawaiting his aid.”

[63]

At the end of five minutes LuciusRutilius had recovered sufficiently to set outon his way home with the young philosopher.When Caius Bononius, on reachinghis friend’s house, held out his hand, whispering:“Calm yourself, Lucius,” he receivedno reply. Staggering like a drunkenman Lucius hurried through the passageleading from the door to the atrium, andsought his couch, to lie awake all night.

Caius Bononius also found himself indescribablyagitated. The gulf betweenwhat he had witnessed and what his reasonand judgment had long since decided concerningthe nature of things and the meaningof the world was too irreconcilable, notto lead the mind of one so eager in the pursuitof knowledge to try to restore in someway the interrupted harmony. Until earlydawn he paced by lamplight up and downhis study or the peristyle, searching, weighing,and rejecting, till at last, almost tired[64]to death, he flung himself, still in his togaand tunic, upon his couch and fell asleep.

CHAPTER IV.

From the time of his visit to OlbasanusLucius Rutilius, who had previously constantlyendeavored to obtain a meeting withhis beloved Hero to cheer the sorrowinggirl and induce her to change her desperateresolve, was completely transformed.

Gifted with a larger share of imaginationthan of calm, unprejudiced investigation;endowed with genuine poetic receptivity forall external impressions, he doubted neitherthe honesty of the mysterious Chaldean,nor the truth of what he had heard and seen.

As Caius Bononius was unable to give[65]any natural explanation of the marvels theyhad witnessed, his efforts, when he visitedhis friend the next day and earnestly endeavoredto weaken, as far as possible, theimpressions of the preceding evening, remainedunavailing.

Since Rutilius was now convinced thatthe ardently-desired union with his belovedHero would inevitably bring destruction, notonly to himself but to her and her dearfather, duty and honor seemed to him tocommand that he should not render the unavoidableseparation more difficult by delayand hesitation, but accomplish it at oncethrough a heroic resolve. Even one moreinterview—a last farewell must be avoided—onthis point he now agreed with thewoman he loved. The arrows that hadpierced so deeply into their yearning heartsmust be torn out by force; only thus, underthe merciful protection of the gods, deliverancemight yet be possible; if not for[66]him—for he felt that without Hero life,even amid all the splendors of the world,would lack light, and color—perhaps forher, who could forget, who ought and mustforget, though the very thought made theyouth tremble.

He therefore wrote to Hero briefly, thathe, too, had heard the decree of the goddessof death and was convinced that the inexorablewill of Fate stood between them—sohe would resign her. With whatfeelings he did so, he need not explain. Ashe wished her to regain her peace of mind,he informed her that he could not remainlonger in Rome, where he should run therisk of meeting her and thus being remindedafresh of the happiness he had foreverlost. He would leave the Capital thefollowing day, without naming the goal ofhis journey, that not even her thoughtsshould follow him.

Lucius carried out this resolution with[67]the haste of a man who hopes to fly fromhimself.

Accompanied only by a single slave, herode at dawn northward across the MilvianBridge—towards Etruria, to pass by Pisae,renowned of old, to Gaul. He had visitednone of his numerous friends before leavingexcept Caius Bononius, to whom henamed Massilia[5] as the place where he intendedto remain for a few months. Hehad in that city, in the person of an Arpinatianknight, a host who would receive himwith open arms.

Meantime Caius Bononius was hauntednight and day by the feverish desire to seeclearly into the tangled web of the eventshe had experienced.

If the marvellous incidents at the Chaldean[68]enchanter’s house had been less numerous;if—with all their apparent reality—theyhad not borne a certain theatrical impress,Bononius would have been disposedto enter more seriously than ever into thequestion: Is there really a higher spiritualpower that rules the souls of the departed,and are there men who, in consequence ofthe peculiar nature of their mental faculties,are capable of entering into mutual relationswith this higher power?

The studies in which Bononius had beenengaged contradicted the truth of such ahypothesis; they did not yield the smallestfact that could be construed in favor ofit. Yet,—it is the brain most free fromprejudice, the brain that has learned howoften the impossible proves true, which istherefore the first to be ready to examineimpartially what is strange and contradictoryinstead of unceremoniously refusing itauthority with the cheap cleverness of average[69]minds. The true thinker does not rejectwhat lies beyond the pale of experience,but simply what is logically inconceivable.

Thus Olbasanus would have obtainedundisputed success with Caius Bononius ifinstead of three amazing miracles he haddisplayed only one. But the instinct thatwas instantly aroused when Bononius detectedthe magician’s triumphant smilegave him no rest; with the zeal of theinvestigator who hopes to make a discoverythat will move the world, the young philosopherstrove to find the most natural andsimple explanation possible for the bewilderingphenomena.... A hundred times hefancied he had grasped the truth by thewing, but it constantly escaped him, andthe joyous gleam of hope proved illusive.

There were two circumstances that gavehim food for reflection.

In the first place, even with the mostcomprehensive knowledge of all the powers[70]of nature, it was not to be explained howthe answer to Lucius Rutilius’s question,which Olbasanus did not know, agreed soexactly with the reply to Hero’s. Thesecond circumstance appeared no less perplexing.If this Olbasanus was really ajuggler, who deceived his victims for hisown selfish designs, what could have beenmore opportune than a final compliancewith Lucius Rutilius’s wishes? The Chaldeanmight have imposed any penance onthe sorrowing youth, and if he had onlywanted money, named a very considerablesum by whose payment to the goddess’srepresentative the pretended fate could beaverted. But there was nothing of the sort.Olbasanus’s goddess persisted, with the inexorableseverity of Fate, in the prophecyalready made by the writing on the entrailsof the victim. This fact told very decidedlyin the sorcerer’s favor. What interest couldthe man be pursuing when, against his better[71]judgment, he destroyed a lover’s hopes,since their restoration undoubtedly promisedto be far more profitable to the soothsayer.

The youth could find no explanation forthese things.

One day—about a week after LuciusRutilius’s departure—he was walkingthrough the avenues of the Campus Martius.Caius had long neglected this afternoonexercise of several hours before dinner;now, when his head was burningfrom the constant restlessness of his excitedthoughts, he had resumed the old custom,and to-day, for the fourth time, set out onhis usual walk to the so-called Septae, theplace where the ancient assemblies of thepeople were held, past the spreadingboughs of the double row of maples, whoserustling foliage already began to assumethe brilliant hues of autumn.

Spite of the lateness of the season the[72]air was as soft and mild as that of spring.A brilliant throng filled the carriage-roadsand bridle-paths. Aristocratic dames wereborne in magnificent litters through thelaurel and myrtle groves, followed by atrain of gaily-attired cavaliers—for thewhite toga of ancient Rome had long sinceceased to be the exclusive costume of thesefashionable gallants. Rich manufacturersfrom Alexandria rolled in the two-wheeledcisium, preceded by woolly-haired runnersin bright red garments, side by side with themagnificent carriage of the senator whoprided himself on his noble blood and theglittering pony chaise of the woman of thedemi monde with her towering coiffure—the“Libertina,” of whom Ovid has sung.Wrestling and throwing the discus werepractised on the stretches of turf; but thecombatants merely played clever tricks oneach other—compared with the fierce athleteswho had steeled their muscles here[73]under Tiberius and Caligula—and the discushad grown smaller, as if intended forboys, a symbol of the increasing degeneracywhich was finally to succumb to the mightyassault of the victorious German tribes.

Caius Bononius walked through thissplendid labyrinth like a somnambulist.Even here, amid the merry, frivolous populationof the world’s capital, he could not shakeoff the burden weighing upon his heart andbrain. On the evening he met Rutiliushe had been on his way to detect thevanity of Olbasanus’ arts—and the consequencewas that he found himself morethan ever ensnared in the net of uncertainty.There was a touch of the tragi comical inthis condition of affairs. Bononius, as hepaced to and fro, had the vague feeling thathe was playing a somewhat pitiful partbefore himself and the aristocratic companyassembled under the maples....

Suddenly some one called him by name.

[74]

He turned.

“Is it you, Philippus?” he exclaimed, asa stately man about thirty-six years oldapproached him from a side-path. Thenew-comer wore the military dress of acenturion (captain) of the city prefect; hisfeatures expressed resolute will, combinedwith unmistakable kindness of heart andfrankness.

“How are you, Bononius?” asked thesoldier, offering the young philosopher hishand. “Are you still alive, or is it onlyyour shade wandering here? By Hercules!it’s at least three months since I last hadthe pleasure of shaking hands with you.What are you doing, you incomprehensiblehermit? Still melting metals on the tripod,or again busied with Heraclitus’ horriblewritings? It must be something terriblethat estranges you so entirely from yourbest friends.”

“You are right,” said Bononius. “I[75]have been unusually busy during the lastfew months. But you see I’m improving.”

They walked on for some distance sideby side. The young man liked to listen tothe fresh, kindly talk of the sturdy centurion,who now criticised a horse, nowspoke of the last races and the newestpantomime, or with blunt originality expressedhis admiration of one of the celebratedbeauties who passed reclining amongthe cushions of their litters or calashes.

“Look there!” he said suddenly, checkingthe torrent of his eloquence. “No,can it be possible? How pale she looks!...Don’t you know her—Hero, Heliodorus’daughter?”

Caius Bononius started violently. Hehad never seen the object of Lucius Rutilius’love, much as his thoughts had beenoccupied with her during the last week.There was no apparent reason for seekingher; nay, by going to the Sicilian’s house[76]he would have frustrated his self-sacrificingfriend’s expressed wish. But now, sincechance had caused this meeting, the youngman felt as if he had only needed a glimpseof Hero to obtain a clear insight into allthe enigmas that tortured him. He almostdevoured with his eyes the lovely girlishfigure which, wrapped in the folds of adazzlingly white palla, was just turning intothe elm avenue by the side of a thin youngman.

Pretty Hero was indeed pale; pale andsad, despite the faint smile of courtesy thathovered around the small, pouting mouth,and the impression was increased by herthick, light-brown hair, which in a simple,waving line framed the symmetrical brow.She gazed without interest at the motleythrong, listened unsympathizingly to theeager words of her excited companion.Behind her, by the side of a fresh, bloominggirl of fifteen, whom Caius Bononius[77]supposed to be the Lydia so often mentionedby Rutilius, walked Heliodorus, thefather of the pallid Hero, evidently in anangry mood, for his brows were contracted,his lips tightly compressed. He seemedto be absorbed in an earnest conversationwith Lydia.

“Is that Hero?” asked Bononius.“And who is the unattractive fellow talkingto her so eagerly?”

“Agathon, a countryman of Heliodorus.I’ve often met him at the city prefect’s.”

Bononius and Philippus now passed thegroup. Philippus bowed. Bononius gazedfixedly now at Hero, now at her companion,Agathon. There was something in thisman’s appearance which seemed familiar,though he thought he most distinctly rememberedthat he had never met himbefore in his life. So he forgot all regardfor courtesy, and when Heliodorus had alsopassed with Lydia, Caius Bononius, spite of[78]the city custom which forbade such things,could not refrain from gazing after theirretreating figures.

When he thus caught a back view ofAgathon’s form a recollection like a revelationsuddenly darted through his brain.That was the same thin figure which, on theevening he was standing with LuciusRutilius at Olbasanus’ door, came out of theostium[6] and walked away. The bearing,the peculiar movement of the right shoulder,the whole appearance,—all was unmistakable.

The young man now clearly perceivedwhat had hitherto been as incomprehensibleto him as the wondrous nocturnal apparitions—Olbasanus’motives. EverythingOlbasanus had predicted to the unhappyRutilius and sorrowing Hero was byAgathon’s direction. The motive that influencedthe latter required no explanation.[79]Hero was young, beautiful, rich,—andAgathon was a suitor for her favor. CaiusBononius especially emphasized the wealth—italready filled him with satisfaction tobe able to despise the aforesaid. Agathonmore heartily than would have been allowableif his intrigue had been caused solelyby a mad passion for the charming younggirl.

True, this discovery did not make theincomprehensible things Rutilius and Bononiushad witnessed in the Chaldean’s houseone hair’s breadth more intelligible; butBononius had gained fresh courage andenergy to advance, by the employment ofevery possible means, towards the goal onwhich, freed from the last remnants of metaphysicaldoubts, he now boldly fixed hisgaze. He was now aware that Olbasanuswas no fanatic, no enthusiast who at leastpartially deceived himself, but a juggler,who served as the tool of the base selfishness[80]of a malicious sneak. This jugglermust be unmasked—the youth’s determinationto do this was as firm as the devotee’sfaith in the mercy of deity.

The centurion had noticed his companion’sagitation and, with his naturalfrankness and absence of reserve, askedwhat there was in the Sicilian’s appearanceto cause so much surprise—had CaiusBononius discovered in Hero some neighborat the circus, for whom he had longsought in vain, or recognized in Agathona troublesome rival? The youth was in amood that renders the heart communicativeand desirous of seeking counsel from others;he had long prized the centurion as a reliableand discreet man; besides, he thoughthe perceived that Philippus also cherishedno special regard for Agathon.

One word led to another.

Strolling a little apart from the throng,Bononius at first gave the centurion some[81]hints and then, after Philippus had swornby all the gods to maintain the most inviolablesecrecy, told him the adventure atOlbasanus’s.

The worthy centurion was frantic withindignation. He had never believed in theconjuror’s fool-tricks; but here the wholething was as clear as day: Agathon, thebase sharper, had bought Olbasanus! He,Philippus, knew that Agathon’s money matterswere very much involved. Of course,the extravagant roué thought he could findno better investment for the few hundredsesterces remaining out of many millionsthan to use them in obtaining the immenseheritage Hero, as her mother’s onlychild, would bring as a marriage dowry.The matter was as clear as sunlight. Butthe insolent cheat had not reaped his harvestyet—and, judging by the expressionon Hero’s pretty face, Philippus consideredit doubtful whether he ever would win what[82]he wished to sneak into so craftily. Nomatter: Agathon’s probable failure did notmake amends for the harm the abominableconjuror had done poor Rutilius. He,Philippus, would do everything in his power,in company with Caius Bononius, to set theaffair to rights.

“Come and breakfast with me to-morrow!”he said at last, after mentioning allthese points with excited volubility. “We’llsketch the plan of a campaign that will notonly restore our worthy Lucius Rutilius tohappiness, but satisfy your ardent curiosityabout the secret powers with which Olbasanusworks.”

“Very well,” replied Bononius. “I’llbe there.”

So they parted.

[83]

CHAPTER V.

Three days after the interview betweenCaius and the centurion the Chaldean sorcererreceived a note, trebly sealed, containingthe following lines:

“Lydia to the glorious Olbasanus, theconfidant of the gods.

“I do not know whether you will stillremember me. I crossed your thresholdwith the fair-haired girl from Syracuse,whom your divine prophecy saved from themost terrible misfortune. Her name isHero, and she is a daughter of the estimableHeliodorus, who came last year to thestrand of Tiber. Filled with admiration foryour incomprehensible art, Lydia begs thecounsel of the omniscient enchanter in animportant and troublesome matter, whosedetails I cannot confide to you in this letter.[84]But a fever which, though not dangerous,confines me to my bed prevents my seekingyou at your own house. So, worthy Olbasanus,accept in return for your troublethe three hundred denarii the boy will giveyou with these lines, and come as soon asyour leisure will permit to the dwelling ofher who seeks knowledge. You know themansion with the Corinthian porticus onthe northern slope of the Caelian hill.Tell me, by the slave, whether and whenmy impatient heart may expect you.”

Olbasanus took the gold and wrotethree words on one of the numerous stripsof parchment which, daintily cut and piledone above another, were lying in a niche inthe wall of his room. It was still early—scarcelyan hour after sunrise; the conjuror’slabors, as a rule, did not begin untilafter the so-called prandium, or secondbreakfast, and were most numerous duringthe evening hours. So he could reply[85]“Will come immediately!”—“for,” headded with courteous phraseology, “Olbasanusknows that he who gives quickly, givesdoubly.”

Twenty minutes after Olbasanus’s litter,radiant with gold and purple, borne by fourcoal-black Nubian slaves, stopped in frontof Heliodorus’s vestibule. Such visits fromthe soothsayer and magician to aristocraticRoman ladies were neither unusual nor remarkable,though Olbasanus was somewhatchary of granting the favor.

The Chaldean was respectfully receivedat the door by the chief slave of the atrium,who begged him to excuse the absence ofthe members of his master’s family; Heliodorushad been detained in Antium forseveral days by important business, andHero, his daughter, had gone to rest at alate hour and was still asleep.

Olbasanus nodded with the quiet formalityof a man accustomed to such phrases,[86]and allowed himself to be conducted to thelarge sitting-room under the columns of theperistyle, where Lydia, reclining on a brasslounge, awaited him.

As he crossed the threshold the youngSicilian rose, greeted him with great embarrassment,and requested him to followher.

Behind the sitting-room was a windowless,oval exedra[7] lighted from above—theapartment specially designed for the socialchat so greatly prized and enjoyed by theRomans even in later times.

Into this cosy private room Lydia conductedthe smiling Oriental, who read inher timid confusion assurance of victory wonand fresh triumphs for the future.

But scarcely had the folding doors closedbehind Olbasanus, when from the oppositeones three strong Germans rushed in andseized him as a pack of hounds fall upon a[87]wolf. Spite of his desperate resistance, hewas bound; a gag, thrust by the flaxen-hairedFrieselanders between his jaws,barely allowed him to breathe.

At the same time Caius Bononius andthe centurion Philippus entered the exedraby a side door.

“Why do you roll your eyes so, conjurorof Hecate?” said Bononius. “Itwill be an easy matter for the confidant ofall the spirits of the Upper and LowerWorld to burst these bonds asunder andhurl the criminals who have assailed himlifeless on the floor.”

Spite of the defiant scorn these wordswere intended to express, the young man’svoice had trembled. The glances thatflashed from under the Oriental’s lasheswere so fierce and diabolical, and the memoryof the events in the enchanter’s houseon the Quirinal so fresh, that Bononiuscould not without emotion see the conquered[88]man at his feet,—for in the struggle withthe slaves Olbasanus had sunk upon hisknees.

At a sign from the centurion Philippus,the flaxen-haired Frieselanders now retiredthrough the same door by which they hadentered. He himself approached the fetteredcaptive, drew his sword from its sheath,and said in curt, resolute tones:

“You have been guilty of an execrablecrime. Recognize in me a commander ofthe armed body appointed to guard thewelfare of the citizens. I could arrest younow without ceremony. Your fate wouldbe undoubted; since, apart from youroffence against Lucius Rutilius and Heliodorus’sdaughter, the edicts of former emperors,prohibiting Chaldeans and mathematiciansa residence in the seven-hilled cityon pain of death, are still in force. Thatthe authorities have been negligent inexecuting these edicts; that an indulgence[89]has prevailed of whose injurious results youare the best proof, has little to do with thematter. Yet,—spite of your criminality, Iwill exercise mercy, if you will punctiliouslyfulfil two conditions that I shall impose. Ifyou wish to hear them, give me some sign!”

Olbasanus, who at Caius Bononius’swords had perceived that his rôle in Romewas played out, after a slight delay bowedhis head like a man who submits to the inevitable.The soldier’s quiet, resolutemanner did not permit him to doubt thatPhilippus would execute his threat.

Lydia, who had hitherto remained aloof,now advanced a few steps and gazed withtimid curiosity at the magician whom, notwithstandingCaius Bononius’s repeatedadmonitions, she still regarded as a sort ofsupernatural being.

True—the pitiable abjectness which nowtook the place of his former rage was wellcalculated to shake this superstitious dread.

[90]

“Very well,” said Philippus to Olbasanus,“I’ll release you from the gag, that youmay speak. But if you should cry outor attempt to frighten this young girl bymagic formulas or any folly of that sort,my blade shall duly repay you for it.”

With these words he removed the gagfrom the enchanter’s mouth.

“My conditions,” he continued, “aresimple enough. You perceive, Olbasanus,that we have discovered the true characterof your incredible frauds, but we still lackthe key to some of your criminal arts.This youth, who crossed your threshold forthe sole purpose of seeing behind the curtainof the nonsensical conjurations withwhich you deluded people, requires a completeand truthful explanation of everythingyou did to deceive Hero and Rutilius. Ifyou refuse or lie, our Germans shall dragyou to prison this very day. You will alsomention the person to whom you sold yourself[91]for such reprehensible jugglery. Themaking of these confessions is my first condition.The second is—that you leaveRome before the end of the year. Go toNicomedia or Alexandria, for aught I care;if these cities will tolerate your presence—anda man of your appearance doesn’t passunobserved—that’s your affair. But herein Rome, where you have not only deludeda populace entrusted as it were to mycharge, but my best friends, here I opposeto you my threatening sword—woe betideyou, if you despise the menace! If you fulfilthe task I impose, you shall be dismissedunharmed. Consider quickly and answerwithout circumlocution.”

Olbasanus, with the keen penetration ofthe Oriental, had instantly perceived thewhole situation. He felt that it was nothatred and revenge that roused these menagainst him, but on the part of one friendshipfor the basely deceived Lucius Rutilius,[92]on that of the other feverish curiosity tolearn the causes of the mysterious effects,which—he himself did not know how orin what way—had suddenly lost theirsupernatural character to Caius Bononius.So he thought that by the exercise of a littletheatrical talent he could turn the conditionsimposed to his own advantage. To leavethe seven-hilled city did not seem too painfula sacrifice, for he had long been consideringwhether it might not be time tocollect his riches and, by retiring to theseclusion of private life, escape the dangerconstantly threatening him from the ancientimperial edicts. Only he needed to remainunmolested until he could accomplish at hisleisure this gathering of his means, especiallythe conversion into money of his considerablelanded property, his estates andcountry houses. So he did not reflect long.

“I’ll confess everything,” he said with ahalf sarcastic smile, “if you’ll all swear to[93]keep my acknowledgment secret for sixmonths. You may disclose it only to LuciusRutilius and Heliodorus’s daughter, oncondition that they, too, will promise tomaintain silence. I will quit the seven-hilledcity, too, as the centurion commands;but I beg as a favor an additional delay ofa few months. If you refuse”—here hisvoice suddenly grew grave and threatening,like the roll of distant thunder,—“by all thehorrors of death—I would rather give myneck to the lictor’s axe.”

“Grant it to him!” said Bononius, whowas burning with impatience.

Philippus consented and, with the youngsage and Lydia, took a solemn oath. ThenBononius told the Chaldean, who couldonly move with difficulty, to sit down on acushioned couch and answer his questionerwith strict conformity to the truth. Hehimself stood with folded arms directly infront of the couch. Philippus, sword in[94]hand, stationed himself by the magician’sside, while Lydia leaned in breathless expectationover the back of a bronze arm-chair.

“First of all,” Caius Bononius began,“tell us one thing: do you believe in theexistence of a power in the Nether World,a creature which has some traits akin to theterrible being in whom people believe underthe name of Hecate? An answer to thisquestion seems to me valuable, because Ishould like to know whether you have daredto offend, by the deception of your jugglingarts, a divinity in whose power you trusted.”

Olbasanus smiled. Now that he hadonce yielded, he seemed to take the wholematter very quietly and after the fashion ofa man of the world, like the Epicurean, who,reclining on the dining-couch in the brilliantly-lightedtriclinium, chats about death.

“Sir,” he said with aristocratic calmness,“I believe, if not in Hecate, in the existence[95]of the mighty void she fills. I, who knowmankind as a gardener does flowers, assureyou: certain things must be systematicallydevised by us more talented men, if the imaginationof the people is not to exhaustitself. Meantime, you might have the kindnessto loose my bonds. Our sworn agreement,your superior numbers, and thiscenturion’s sword make the favor appeartrivial, and it is more agreeable to philosophizeif one is not enduring physical discomfort.”

Caius Bononius made no delay in grantingthis request.

“Very well,” he began again when hehad freed the magician from his ropes, “soyou entirely deny the existence of supernaturalbeings?”

“I deny nothing—assert nothing. Thisworld is so mysterious, the nature of thingsis so unfathomable to our intellectual powers,that it would be madness to form a positive[96]opinion about the possibility or impossibilityof a thing which does not come directlywithin our own experience.”

“I won’t dispute that. Now for details!”

“You need only question.”

“What induced you to send that firstmessage to Heliodorus’ daughter? Whobought you?”

“Bought?” repeated the Oriental. “Thatsounds so unpleasant, Caius Bononius. Prophesyingwas my ordinary business. Likeevery one else who practises a profession, Iwas at the disposal of any one who paid formy art.”

“Then, who paid you?”

“Agathon, Philemon’s son.”

“But you have no scruples about ruthlesslydestroying the happiness of twohuman beings for glittering gold?”

Olbasanus shrugged his shoulders.

[97]

“If Hero believed it was thus appointedby fate, the fact was a potent consolationfor all the grief of renunciation.Besides—do you know whether this unionwas for their happiness? My oracle interposed,separated two persons who wished tobe united: well, this was really the will offate; for everything that happens is absolutelynecessary, and events are strung onthe infrangible threads of chance. If youtell me that my prophecy would have destroyedtheir happiness, I shall answer withequal confidence: it would have saved themfrom misery.”

“Admirable logic, by Hercules!” repliedBononius. “But we won’t argue about thematter! So Agathon bought—or paidyou. Did he tell you his reasons?”

“I did not ask him; but as I knew theman, I guessed them. I knew that Agathonhad been on the verge of ruin for severalmonths, and having learned that Hero is[98]one of the richest heiresses in the seven-hilledcity....”

“How did you learn that?”

“Was I to remain ignorant of what hundredsknow? I don’t keep paid informersin all the fourteen districts for nothing....”

“Very well. So you complied with hisrequest, wrote to Hero, and sent her themysterious page, which so strangely covereditself with black writing. How is this explained?”

“The mysterious writing can be explainedsimply enough,” replied Olbasanus.“I prepare from milk, salt water, and a thirdingredient, whose combination I inventedwith great difficulty, a colorless ink whichturns black as soon as it is warmed. Thepage from the book of the god Amun was ofcourse previously written; the heat of thefire produced the miracle that drove thepoor, foolish girl to despair.”

“Confoundedly simple, to be sure!” said[99]the mortified Bononius. “Name the thirdingredient.”

“How can I designate a nameless thing?It is known only to me; but to explain itspreparation....”

“You are right. There are more importantthings in store for us. First: howcould you know that the youth who accompaniedme, and whom I only encounteredby accident, was Lucius Rutilius? He assuresme that he never met you. Did yourecognize him?”

“No. But I was daily expecting a visitfrom him. Besides, Agathon knew him,and Agathon met you as he left my door.While my servant was leading you by aroundabout way to the hall of conjuration,Agathon hurriedly returned and informedme of Rutilius’s immediate arrival.”

“Yet the servant could not possiblyforesee that it would be for your interest to[100]delay our arrival. So why did he choosethat way?”

“It is the rule. All strangers passthrough those corridors; only those whocome on errands, like Agathon, are conducteddirectly to my rooms.”

“I understand,” said Bononius. “Butsuppose—we had not met Agathon?”

“Then it would undoubtedly have costme more trouble to ascertain the personalityof your companion—and I should haveperformed other miracles.”

“How did it happen that the candelabraaround were lighted when you raised yourwand?”

“Their stands are hollow. The lampsare already burning very low within thecolumns. A thick wire screen shuts off thereflection they would otherwise cast on theceiling. When I raise the wand, my assistantbehind the curtains turns an iron wheelwhich moves machinery that pushes the[101]lamps up from the floor, opens the screens,and turns up the wicks.”

“Go on!” said Bononius. “The metallicsound your wand drew from the altar...?”

“Was produced by a copper basin concealedinside. A boy sits in front of it withan iron rod.”

“I supposed it was something of thekind. But now: the sudden fall of the victim!Does the hidden boy have a hand inthe game here, too?”

“Here, too!” replied the magician. “Inthe side of the altar is a small movableplate, which is covered with a thin layer ofcommon salt. As soon as the animal findsits head near this plate, it begins, accordingto natural instinct, to lick it. When I givethe sign, the boy, with a sudden push, drivesthe plate into an opening of the same sizemade in the marble, the space it formerlyoccupied being filled with a second plate,[102]also covered with salt, which, however, ismixed with a poison whose action is instantaneous.The results you have seen.”

“But suppose the lamb doesn’t accommodateyou?” said the centurion. “Supposeit should be tired, or satiated, or obstinate?”

“That is provided for. The animal isdeprived a long time of its favorite dainty.At the worst I incurred no risk. If the trickfailed, it remained a secret; the animal couldthen be killed as every priest slays hisvictim.”

“You took out the heart and liver,”Bononius continued, “I watched you withthe utmost care. You held the wand in yourright hand all the time that the entrails werein your left; so the writing that so completelyrobbed Rutilius of his self-commandcould not have come from the staff. Far lesscould the animal have had a liver readyinscribed in its body. How did this incrediblething occur?”

[103]

“It was not done with the right handwhich carried the wand,” replied Olbasanussmiling, “but with the left, in which I heldthe liver.”

“Impossible!”

“Understand me correctly. Before youentered the hall the word ΘΑΝΑΤΟΣ waswritten in inverted characters on thepalm of my left hand with a black fluidspecially prepared for the purpose. Themoist liver eagerly absorbed this fluid andwhen I laid it on the plate, the miracle wasaccomplished.”

A long pause ensued. The ridiculoussimplicity of this apparently incomprehensiblemarvel, and the bold assurance displayedby the Chaldean produced a startling effect.Even Lydia now felt ashamed of having solong shared poor Hero’s terror and of onlyhaving given her consent after much fearand hesitation to the plan which was to unmaskthe magician.

[104]

“A masterpiece certainly!” said Bononiusalmost furiously. “It ought not to surpriseme now if I should learn that yourtalking skull was a vision of mist or smoke!To be sure, things are not simple until theyare understood. But we’ll keep to the regularorder of events! I don’t ask about thepeals of thunder and flashes of lightning;such things may be heard and seen, thoughfar more imperfectly, even at the performancesof foolish pantomimes. But how doyou explain the ghostly motion that arosein the brazier of coals? It was an amazingphenomenon.”

“In the bottom of the brazier was asheet of alum, which, melting and bubblingfrom the heat, imparted its own movementsto the coals.”

“Now for the skull. Its speech was deceptive—asdistinct as your own voice isnow.”

“It was the voice of an assistant. A[105]tube led from the floor into the skull. Theassistant spoke into it below, so the wordsseemed to proceed directly from the skull.”

“And its disappearance?”

“Was caused by melting. The skull wasmodelled of wax and the plates of theniche were heated from below.”

“But it was not seen....”

“You saw nothing distinctly,” interruptedOlbasanus. “Unperceived by you, acurtain of thin Coan gauze shut off theniche, thus rendering the illusion less difficult.A similar effect was afterwards producedoutside in the grounds by the interlacednetwork of the branches behind whichthe fire-showering Hecate passed across thesky.”

“Explain this flaming Hecate!”

The Chaldean laughed heartily, thensaid in a tone of strange sarcasm:

“Pardon me; but it is a singular fatalitythat my most effective masterpiece always[106]arouses my laughter. I have seen hundredsof credulous folk prostrate themselves on thecircle of turf in my grounds and, coveringtheir faces, moan and groan aloud as thehorrible phenomenon rose in the dark sky.And yet—or perhaps it is for that veryreason—the contrast is too sharp. ThisHecate, who apparently passes with frantichaste across the firmament, is nothing but apoor kite wrapped in blazing tow. One ofmy assistants looses the unfortunate creature,—whichis prevented from screamingby a tightly-drawn leather strap,—througha huge pipe, twenty ells long. The torturedbird thus keeps the direction it has taken.Before the tow goes out, the kite hasreached the place where it ceases to be visible.Deceived by the branches of thenumerous trees, the awed beholders imaginethe fiery image is far away in the realms ofair and attribute to it gigantic size andsupernatural speed—just as the eye, when[107]gazing into vacancy, mistakes a fly buzzingclose by for the dimly-seen shadow of ahuge bird. This, oh! Bononius, is Hecate,the Ruler of us all, the Princess of Darkness,the horrible tyrant of the NetherWorld.”

“Enough,” said Caius Bononius. “Inow see that we all have some trace of themighty demon that is your most powerfulally—the fiend called superstition andhuman folly. I, too, confess myself guilty,under the impressions you conjured up beforeus, of having been led astray from theconvictions obtained by long years of arduouslabor. I am a human being and maysay with the poet; I consider nothingstrange that is human, not even mortalweaknesses and errors. But you, Olbasanus,ought to fear the awakening tortures ofyour conscience! Summoned by virtue ofyour unmistakable penetration to be a guideto erring humanity, to lighten the darkness of[108]its errors, and bring it to the truth, you donot disdain to profit by its weaknesses, likethe miserable robber who plunders a sickand defenceless man. Leave us—or I shallbe seized with loathing and forget mypromise. Other feelings ought to rule mysoul now—above all, joy at the happy turnin the fate of your deceived victims.”

“I will go,” replied Olbasanus. “It ischeap and convenient to accuse me of crime.But I ask one question, Caius Bononius: howmany of the countless throng that followme along the road of error would be mycompanions, if I attempted to lead them withearnestness and zeal into the domain oftruth? One in a thousand! Delusion isbrilliant and magnificent; its sultry breezesintoxicate; the air on the heights of truthblows keen and cold, and humanity is a poor,freezing beggar.”

Caius Bononius unceremoniously turnedhis back upon the speaker, and Olbasanus,[109]holding his head proudly erect, left theexedra.

Six weeks later, early in the month ofDecember, Heliodorus’ house glittered inthe splendor of festal array. Garlands ofleaves and flowers twined around the Corinthianpillars; countless lamps adorned thewide halls of the atrium and peristyle. Aselect company attired in fashionable costume,ladies in gaily-flowered pallas, withglittering diadems and gold pins amongtheir curls, senators in purple-bordered holidayrobes, rich merchants in Tyrian syntheses,and laurel-crowned poets, throngedthe gleaming colonnades. Heliodorus wascelebrating the marriage of his daughterHero to Lucius Rutilius. The worthy Bononius,who had not shrunk from taking thelong journey to distant Massilia to bringhis friend back to the scene of his newly-restored[110]happiness, was treated by thebride with almost greater attention than shebestowed upon the bridegroom—an incomprehensibleenigma—and Lucius Rutilius,far from being seized with jealousy at thisapparent neglect, also strove to show theyoung philosopher every token of the mostcordial affection. Caius Bononius was evidentlyabsent-minded. His heart had forsome time been divided between satisfactionat the successful breaking of the spell whichhad weighed upon Hero and Rutilius, andanother feeling that had ripened during thefew days of his intercourse with Lydia.How it happened was doubtless known toEros, the sole enchanter in whose omnipotencethe sceptical Bononius found himselfhenceforth compelled to believe. In short,the young man desired nothing better thanto gaze into Lydia’s deep, dark eyes, listento her voice, or brush against her flowingstola while walking through the colonnades[111]of the peristyle. Considering his past, itwas extremely unphilosophical—but the factcould not be denied.

Rutilius’ wedding afforded him ampleopportunity to satisfy his longing in thisrespect. Lydia, too, who had at first beenmerely an admirer of his faithful friendshipand untiring energy, gradually passed intoanother mood. After Hero’s departure fromher father’s house the young girl feltstrangely lonesome.... When she fancied thatit would be very delightful if she, too, likeHeliodorus’ daughter, could have a home ofher own where she might rule as the wife ofa handsome, wise, talented man, this imaginaryhusband unconsciously assumed thefeatures of Caius Bononius.... So it wasnot one of the greatest marvels that Erosever accomplished when, the following April,Bononius and Lydia were married.

Previous to this event, however, the aristocratsof the seven-hilled city were startled[112]by two pieces of news which for a long timeformed the topic of daily conversation. Onewas the sudden disappearance of the Chaldeanmagician, who had sold all his estates,as well as the palace furnished with Orientalsplendor on the Quirinal, and left Romewithout bidding any one farewell; the otherwas the suicide of Agathon, who hadopened his veins in the warm bath of hisown house, which had been mortgaged farbeyond its value.

ADVERTISEMENTS

THE WILL.—A NOVEL, by Ernst Eckstein, from theGerman by Clara Bell, in two vols. Paper, $1.00 Cloth, $1.75per set.

“Since the appearance of ‘Debit and Credit’ we have notseen a German novel that can rank, in the line struck out by thatfamous work, with ‘The Will,’ by Ernst Eckstein. It is a vividpicture of German city life, and the characters, whether quaint,commonplace, tragical, or a mixture of all three, are admirablydrawn. All the German carefulness is in Eckstein’s work, butthere is besides a sparkle and verve entirely French—and Frenchof the best kind.”—Catholic Mirror, Baltimore.

“The chief value of the book is in its well-drawn and strongpictures of life in both German cities and villages, and Clara Bell,has, as usual, proved herself a mistress of the German Tongue.”—SundayStar, Providence.

“Ernst Eckstein, hitherto known as a writer of classicalromance, now tries his hand upon a genre story of Germanlife. To our mind, it is his most successful work.”—Bulletin,San Francisco, Cal.

“The present work is entitled ‘The Will,’ and is written byErnst Eckstein, the author of the striking historical novel, QuintusClaudius. The name of Clara Bell as the translator from theGerman is assurance enough of the excellence of its renderinginto English. The plot of the story is not a novel one, but it isskillfully executed, and the whole tale is developed with muchdramatic power.”—Boston Zion’s Herald.

“‘The Will,’ by Eckstein, is the latest and best work ofits author. The scene, the people, the events of the story arenew, the plot is ingenious, and the action rapid and excitingenough to please the most jaded novel reader. The character ofschoolmaster Heinzius would alone make the reputation of a newwriter, and there are other sketches from life none the lessmasterly. Ernst Eckstein excels in heroines, of whom there areseveral in the book—all clearly defined—contending for thesympathy of the reader.”—The Journal of Commerce, New York.

PRUSIAS.—A Romance of Ancient Rome under the Republic,by Ernst Eckstein, from the German by Clara Bell.Authorized edition. In two vols. Paper, $1.00. Cloth, $1.75.

“The date of ‘Prusias’ is the latter half of the first centuryB. C. Rome is waging her tedious war with Mithridates. Thereare also risings in Spain, and the home army is badly depleted.Prusias comes to Capua as a learned Armenian, the tutor of anoble pupil in one of the aristocratic households. Each memberof this circle is distinct. Some of the most splendid traits ofhuman nature develop among these grand statesmen and theirdignified wives, mothers, and daughters. The ideal Roman maidenis Psyche; but she has a trace of Greek blood and of the nativegentleness. Of a more interesting type is Fannia, who might,minus her slaves and stola, pass for a modern and saucy New Yorkbeauty. Her wit, spirit, selfishness, and impulsive magnanimitymight easily have been a nineteenth-century evolution. In thefamily to which Prusias comes are two sons, one of military leanings,the other a student. Into the ear of the latter Prusias whispersthe real purpose of his coming to Italy. He is an Armenianand in league with Mithridates for the reduction of Roman rule.The unity which the Senate has tried to extend to the freshly-conqueredprovinces of Italy is a thing of slow growth. Prusias byhis strategy and helped by Mithridates’s gold, hopes to organizeslaves and disaffected provincials into a force which will obligeweakened Rome to make terms, one of which shall be completeemancipation and equality of every man before the law. His haranguesare in lofty strain, and, save that he never takes the coarse,belligerent tone of our contemporaries, these speeches might havebeen made by one of our own Abolitionists. The one point thatPrusias never forgets is personal dignity and a regal considerationfor his friends. But after all, this son of the gods is befooledby a woman, a sinuous and transcendently ambitious Roman belle,the second wife of the dull and trustful prefect of Capua; forthis tiny woman had all men in her net whom she found it usefulto have there.

“The daughter of the prefect—hard, homely-featured, and hatingthe supple stepmother with an unspeakable hate, tearing herbeauty at last like a tigress and so causing her death—is a repulsivebut very strong figure. The two brothers who range themselveson opposite sides in the servile war make another unforgettablepicture; and the beautiful slave Brenna, who follows hernoble lover into camp, is a spark of light against the lurid background.The servile movement is combined with the bold plansof the Thracian Spartacus. He is a good figure and perpetuallysurprises us with his keen foresight and disciplinary power.

“The book is stirring, realistic in the even German way, andfull of the fibre and breath of its century.”—Boston Ev’g Transcript.

QUINTUS CLAUDIUS.—A Romance of Imperial Rome,by Ernst Eckstein, from the German by Clara Bell, intwo vols. Paper, $1.00. Cloth, $1. 75.

“We owe to Eckstein the brilliant romance of ‘QuintusClaudius,’ which Clara Bell has done well to translate for us, forit is worthy of place beside the Emperor of Ebers and the Aspasiaof Hamerling. It is a story of Rome in the reign of Domitian,and the most noted characters of the time figure in its pages,which are a series of picturesque descriptions of Roman life andmanners in the imperial city, and in those luxurious retreats atBaiae and elsewhere to which the wealthy Romans used to retreatfrom the heats of summer. It is full of stirring scenes in thestreets, in the palaces, in the temples, and in the amphitheatre,and the actors therein represent every phase of Roman character,from the treacherous and cowardly Domitian and the vile Domitiadown to the secret gatherings of the new sect and their exit fromlife in the blood-soaked sands of the arena, where they were tornin pieces by the beasts of the desert. The life and the mannersof all classes at this period were never painted with a bolderpencil than by Eckstein in this masterly romance, which displaysas much scholarship as invention.”—Mail and Express, N. Y.

“These neat volumes contain a story first published in German.It is written in that style which Ebers has cultivated so successfully.The place is Rome; the time, that of Domitian at the endof the first century. The very careful study of historical data, isevident from the notes at the foot of nearly every page. Theauthor attempted the difficult task of presenting in a single storythe whole life of Rome, the intrigues of that day which compassedthe overthrow of Domitian, and the deep fervor and terrible trialsof the Christians in the last of the general persecutions. Thecourt, the army, the amphitheatre, the catacombs, the evil andthe good of Roman manhood and womanhood—all are here.And the work is done with power and success. It is a book forevery Christian and for every student, a book of lasting value,bringing more than one nation under obligation to its author.”—NewJerusalem Magazine, Boston, Mass.

“A new Romance of Ancient Times! The success of ErnstEckstein’s new novel, ‘Quintus Claudius,’ which recently appearedin Vienna, may fairly be called phenomenal, critics and thepublic unite in praising the work.”—Grazer Morgenpost.

“‘Quintus Claudius’ is a finished work of art, capable ofbearing any analysis, a literary production teeming with instructionand interest, full of plastic forms, and rich in the most dramaticchanges of mood.”—Pester Lloyd.

SERAPIS. A Romance by Georg Ebers, from the Germanby Clara Bell. Authorized Edition. In one vol. Papercover, 50 cts. Cloth binding, 90 cts.

“A new novel by Ebers is always a pleasure; and ‘Serapis’ hasall the qualities conspicuous in the Egyptian novels that preceded it,with an intensified dramatic and descriptive power that tempts one topronounce it one of the very best of the series. Nothing is lost fromthat perfectly preserved atmosphere of something foreign to our ownexperience in time and place, which one felt instinctively to be foreignwhether or not one were Egyptologist enough to recognize it as perfect;while at the same time the interest is kept up by a stress ofhuman feeling which makes the thrilling events chronicled hold oneas if they happened before one’s eyes. The early Christians arerepresented, not as martyrs and haloed heroes, but as human beingswith a great deal of human nature in them; the touch of the ChristianBishop quite indifferent to the conversion and the fate of a youngChristian maiden as soon as he learned that she preferred to be anAryan Christian, being especially—shall we say natural, or artistic?The heroine is not a young girl ardent in the Christian faith, as iscustomary in similar historical stories, but one clinging fiercely to theold faiths; the description of the torture to her soul, even after shebegan to turn to the light, in the sacrilegious destruction of the oldgods and temples, being given with wonderful vividness. The mereoutward descriptions are singularly effective; whether of a young girlresting in a garden on soft cushions under the gilt-coffered ceiling ofthe arcade, peeling a luscious peach as she listens to the plash of thefountains and watches the buds swelling on the tall trees, while amongthe smooth, shining leaves of the orange and lemon trees gleamed theswelling fruit,—or of a maiden devoted to the worship of Isis waitingfor her Christian lover,—or finally of the magnificent Serapeum,never more glorious than when the Christians had resolved on itsdestruction and the cunning priests, with the aid of mirrors, caused aray of the setting sun—a shaft of intense brightness—to fall on the lipsof the statue of the god as if in derision of his enemies. Of dramaticeffects there are many intensely dramatic; more especially the scenewhere Constantine mounts the ladder with his axe to overthrow the god,almost as sensitive himself to his own daring as the young agonizedgirl, watching him as if the first blow he should deal to the beautifuland unique work of art might wreck her love for him, as his axewould wreck the ivory. Even more powerful than this, perhaps, isthe scene where Theophilus, struggling in vain to persuade even hisown followers to the destruction of the great image, seizes the crucifixof his own Lord, and trembling almost at his own audacity, dashesit to the ground in fragments, to show that even the symbol of hisown religion is as nothing compared with the spirit; falling thenupon his knees in an ecstasy of remorseful prayer, and gathering upthe bits of broken ivory to kiss them devoutly. The book is so full ofscenes and effects like this, that while quite as instructive in its wayas the other Egyptian novels, it is more strikingly interesting as astory.”—The Critic, N. Y.

ASPASIA.—A Romance, by Robert Hamerling, fromthe German by Mary J. Safford, in two vols. Paper, $1.00.Cloth, $1.75.

“We have read his work conscientiously, and, we confess, withprofit. Never have we had so clear an insight into the manners,thoughts, and feelings of the ancient Greeks. No study has madeus so familiar with the age of Pericles. We recognize throughoutthat the author is master of the period of which he treats. Moreover,looking back upon the work from the end to the beginning,we clearly perceive in it a complete unity of purpose not at allevident during the reading.

“Hamerling’s Aspasia, herself the most beautiful woman inall Hellas, is the apostle of beauty and of joyousness, the implacableenemy of all that is stern and harsh in life. Unfortunately,morality is stern, and had no place among Aspasia’s doctrines.This ugly fact, Landor has thrust as far into the background aspossible. Hamerling obtrudes it. He does not moralize, heneither condemns nor praises; but like fate, silent, passionless,and resistless, he carries the story along, allows the sunshine fora time to silver the turbid stream, the butterflies and gnats to flutterabove it in rainbow tints, and then remorselessly draws overthe landscape gray twilight. He but follows the course ofhistory; yet the absolute pitilessness with which he does it isalmost terrible.”—Extracts from Review in Yale LiteraryMagazine.

“No more beautiful chapter can be found in any book of thisage than that in which Pericles and Aspasia are described as visitingthe poet Sophocles in the garden on the bank of the Cephissus.”—UticaMorning Herald.

“It is one of the great excellencies of this romance, this loftysong of the genius of the Greeks, that it is composed with perfectartistic symmetry in the treatment of the different parts, and fromthe first word to the last is thoroughly harmonious in tone andcoloring. Therefore, in ‘Aspasia,’ we are given a book, whichcould only proceed from the union of an artistic nature and athoughtful mind—a book that does not depict fiery passions indramatic conflict, but with dignified composure, leads the conflicttherein described to the final catastrophe.”—Allgemeine Zeitung.(Augsburg).

William S. Gottsberger’s Publications.

William S. Gottsberger’s Publications.