This eBook was produced by David Widger <widger@cecomet.net>
[NOTE: There is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of thefile for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making anentire meal of them. D.W.]
By Georg Ebers
Gorgo, when she had left her grandmother, could not rest. Her loftycalmness of demeanor had given way to a restless mood such as she hadalways contemned severely in others, since she had ceased to be avehement child and grown to be a woman. She tried to beguile the alarmthat made her pulses beat so quickly, and the heart-sickness that achedlike a wound, by music and singing; but this only added to her torment.The means by which she could usually recover her equanimity of mind hadlost their efficacy, and Sappho's longing hymn, which she began to sing,had only served to bring the fervid longing of her own heart to light—to set it, as it were, in the full glare of the sun. She had becomeaware that every fibre, every nerve of her being yearned for the man sheloved; she would have thrown away her life like a hollow nut for onesingle hour of perfect joy with him and in him. The faith in the oldgods, the heathen world which contained the ideal of her young soul, herdetestation of Christianity, her beautiful art—everything, in short,that had filled the spiritual side of her life, was cast into the shadeby the one absorbing passion that possessed her soul. Every feeling,every instinct, urged her to abandon herself entirely to her lover, andyet she never for one instant doubted which side she would take in theapproaching conflict of the great powers that ruled the world. The lastfew hours had only confirmed her conviction that the end of all thingswas at hand. The world was on the eve of destruction; she foresaw thatshe must perish—perish with Constantine, and that, in her eyes, was agrace from the gods.
While Damia was vainly struggling to liberate her soul from the bondageof the flesh, Gorgo had been wandering uneasily about the house; nowgoing to the slaves, encouraging them with brave words, and giving thememployment to keep them from utter desperation, and then stealing up tosee whether her grandmother might not by this time be in need of her.As it grew dark she observed that several of the women, and even some ofthe men, had made their escape. These were such as had already shown aleaning towards the new faith, and who now made off to join their fellow-Christians, or to seek refuge in the churches under the protection of thecrucified God whose supreme power might, perhaps, even yet, avert theimpending catastrophe.
Twice had Porphyrius sent a messenger to assure his mother and daughterthat all was well with him, that a powerful party was prepared to defendthe Serapeum, and that he should pass the night in the temple. TheRomans were evidently hesitating to attack it, and if, next morning, theheathen should succeed in repelling the first onset, reinforcements mightyet be brought up in time. Gorgo could not share these hopes; a clientof her father's had brought in a rumor that the Biamites, after advancingas far as Naucratis, had been dispersed by a few of the Imperialmaniples. Fate was stalking on its way, and no one could give it pause.
The evening brought no coolness, and when it was already quite dark,as her grandmother had not yet called her, Gorgo could no longer controlher increasing anxiety, so, after knocking in vain at the door of theobservatory, she went in. Her old nurse preceded her with a lamp, andthe two women stood dumb with consternation,