The Emperor. Complete

“Let us get at the drachmae he grudges the god; we can find a use for them.” Graukus, the sausage maker, snatched from his neighbor’s hand the bunch of tow soaked in pitch, and bellowed out, “I advise that we should burn the house over their heads!”

“Stay, stay,” cried a cobbler who worked for Apollodorus’ slaves, as he placed himself in the butcher’s way. “Perhaps they are mourning for some one in there. The Jew has always decorated his house on former occasions.”

“Not they,” replied a flute-player in a loud hoarse voice. “We met the old miser’s son on the Bruchiom with some riotous comrades and misconducted hussies, with his purple mantle fluttering far behind him.”

“Let us see which is reddest, the Tyrian stuff or the blaze we shall make if we set the old wretch’s house on fire,” shouted a hungry-looking tailor, looking round to see the effects of his wit.

“Ay! let us try!” rose from one man, and then, from a number of others:

“Let us get into the house!”

“The mean churl shall remember this day!”

“Fetch him out!”

“Drag him into the street!”

Such shouts as these rose here and there from the crowd, which grew denser every instant as it was increased by fresh tributaries attracted by the riot.

“Drag him out!” again shrieked an Egyptian slavedriver, and a woman shrieked an echo of his words. She snatched the deer-skin from her shoulders, flourished it round and round in the air above her tangled black hair, and bellowed furiously:

“Tear him in pieces!”

“In pieces, with your teeth!” roared a drunken Maenad who, like most of the mob that had collected, knew nothing whatever of the popular grudge against Apollodorus and his house.

But words had already begun to be followed by deeds. Feet, fists, and cudgels stamped, drubbed, and thumped against the firmly-bolted brazen door of the darkened house, and a ship’s boy of fourteen sprang on the shoulders of a tall black slave and tried to climb the roof of the colonnade, and to fling the torch which the sausage-maker handed up to him into the open forecourt of the imperilled house.

CHAPTER VI

The clatter of arms which Apollodorus and his guests had heard proceeded not from the Jew’s besiegers, but from some Roman soldiers who brought safety to the besieged.

It was Verus, who as he was returning from the supper he had given his veterans, with an officer of the Twelfth Legion and his British slaves, had crossed the Canopic way and had been impeded in his progress by the increasing crowd which stood before Apollodorus’ house. The praetor had met the Jew at the prefect’s house, and knew him for one of the richest and shrewdest men in Alexandria. This attack on his property roused his ire; still he would certainly not have remained an idle spectator even if the house in danger, instead of belonging to a man of mark, had been that of one of the poorest and meanest, even among the Christians. Any lawless act, any breach of constituted order was odious and intolerable to the Roman; he would not have been the man he was if he had looked on passively at an attack by the mob, in times of peace, on the life and property of a quiet and estimable citizen. This licentious man of pleasure, devoted to every enervating enjoyment, in battle, or whenever the need arose, was as prudent as he was brave.

He now first ascertained what purpose the excited crowd had in view, and at once considered the ways and means of frustrating their project. They had already begun to batter the Jew’s door, and already several lads were standing on the roof of the arcades with burning torches in their hands.

Whatever he did must be done on the instant, and happily Verus had the gift of thinking and acting promptly. In a few decisive words he begged his companion, Lucius Albinus, to hurry back to his old soldiers and bring them to the rescue; then he desired his slaves to force a way for him with their powerful arms up to the door of the house. This feat was accomplished in no time, but how great was his astonishment when he found the Emperor standing there.

Hadrian stood in the midst of the crowd, and at the instant when Verus appeared on the scene had wrenched the torch out of the hand of the infuriated tailor. At the same time, in a thundering voice, he commanded the Alexandrians—who were not accustomed to the imperial tone—to desist from their mad project. Whistling, grunting, and words of scorn overpowered the mandate of the sovereign, and when Verus and his slaves had reached the spot where he stood, a few drunken Egyptians had gone up to him and were about to lay hands on the unwelcome counsellor. The praetor stood in their way. He first whispered to Hadrian that Jupiter ought to be ruling the world, and might well leave it to smaller folks to rescue a houseful of Jews; and that in a few seconds the soldiers would arrive. Then he shouted to him in a loud voice:

“Away from this Sophist! Your place is in the Museum, or in the temple of Serapis with your books, and not among the misguided and ignorant. Am I right Macedonian citizens, or am I wrong?” A murmur of assent was heard which became a roar of laughter when Verus, after Hadrian had got away, went on:

“He has a beard like Caesar, and so he behaves as if he wore the purple! You did well to let him escape, his wife and children are waiting for him over their porridge.”

Verus had often been implicated in wild adventure among the populace and knew how to deal with them; if he now could only detain them till the advent of the soldiers he might consider the game as won. Hadrian could be a hero when it suited him; but here where no laurels were to be won, he left to Verus the task of quieting the crowd.

As soon as he was fairly gone Verus desired his slaves to lift him on their shoulders; his handsome good-natured face looked down upon the crowd from high above them. He was immediately recognized, and many voices called out:

“The crazy Roman! the praetor! the sham Eros!”

“I am he, Macedonian citizens, yes, I am he,” answered Verus in a clear voice. “And I will tell you a story.”

“Listen, Listen.”

“No let us get into the Jew’s house.”

“Presently—listen a minute to what the sham Eros says.”

“I will knock your teeth down your throat boy, if you don’t hold your tongue.”

All the crowd were shouting in wild confusion.

Curiosity, on the one hand, to hear the noble gentleman’s speech, and the somewhat superficial fury of the mob contended together for a few minutes; at last curiosity seemed to be gaining the day, the tumult subsided, and the praetor began:

“Once upon a time there was a child who had given to him ten little sheep made of cotton, little foolish toys such as the old women sell in the market place.”

“Get into the Jew’s house, we don’t want to hear children’s stories—”

“Be quiet there!”

“Hush now listen; from the sheep he will go on to the wolves.”

“Not wolves—it will be a she-wolf!” some one shouted in the throng.

“Do not mention the horrid things!” laughed Verus, “but listen to me.—Well, the child set his little sheep up in a row each one close to the next. He was a weaver’s son. Are there any weavers here? You? and you—ah, and you out there. If I were not my father’s son I should like to be the son of an Alexandrian weaver. You need not laugh!—Well, about the sheep. All the little things were beautifully white but one which had nasty black spots, and the little boy could not bear that one. He went to the hearth, pulled out a burning stick and wanted to burn the little ugly sheep so as only to have pretty white ones. The lambkin caught fire and just as the flame had begun to burn the wooden skeleton of the toy a draught from the window blew the flame towards the other little sheep and in a minute they were all burned to ashes. Then thought the little boy, ‘If only I had let the ugly sheep alone! What can I play with now?’ and he began to cry. But this was not all, for while the little rascal was drying his eyes, the flame spread and burnt up the loom, the wool, the flax, the woven pieces, the whole house—the town in which he was born, and even, I believe, the boy himself!—Now worthy friends and Macedonian citizens, reflect a moment. Any man among you who is possessed of any property may read the moral of my fable.”

“Put out the torches!” cried the wife of a charcoal dealer.

“He is right; for by reason of the Jew, we are putting the whole town in danger!” cried the cobbler.

“The mad fools have already thrown in some brands!”

“If you fellows up there fling any more I will break your ankles for you,” shouted a flax-dealer.

“Don’t try any burning,” the tailor commanded, “force open the door and have out the Jew.” These words raised a storm of applause and the mob pressed forward to the Jew’s abode. No one listened to Verus any more, and he slipped down from his slave’s shoulders, placed himself in front of the door and called out:

“In the name of Caesar and the law I command you to leave this house unharmed.”

The Roman’s warning was evidently quite in earnest, and the false Eros looked as if at this moment it would be ill-advised to try jesting with him. But in the universal uproar only a few had heard his words, and the hot-blooded tailor was so rash as to lay his hand on the praetor’s girdle in order to drag him away from the door with the help of his comrades. But he paid dearly for his temerity for the praetor’s fist fell so heavily on his forehead that he dropped as if struck by lightning. One of the Britons knocked down the sausage-maker and a hideous hand to hand fight would have been the upshot if help had not come to the hardly-beset Romans from two quarters at once. The veterans supported by a number of lictors were the first to appear, and soon after them came Benjamin, the Jew’s eldest son, who was passing down the great thoroughfare with his boon-companions and saw the danger that was threatening his father’s house.

The soldiers parted the throng as the wind chases the clouds, and the young Israelite pressed forward with his heavy thyrsus fought and pushed his way so valiantly and resolutely through the panic-stricken mob, that he reached the door of his father’s house but a few moments later than the soldiers. The lictors battered at the door and as no one opened it, they forced it with the help of the soldiers in order to set a guard in the beleaguered house, and protect it against the raging mob.

Verus and the officer entered the Jew’s dwelling with the armed men, and behind them came Benjamin and his friends—young Greeks with whom he was in the habit of consorting daily, in the bath or the gymnasium. Apollodorus and his guests expressed their gratitude to Verus, and when the old Jewish house-keeper, who had seen and heard from a hiding-place under the roof all that had taken place outside her master’s house, came into the men’s hall and gave a full report of the uproar from beginning to end, the praetor was overwhelmed with thanks; and the old woman embroidered her narrative with the most glowing colors. While this was going on Apollodorus’ pretty daughter, Ismene, came in, and after falling on her father’s neck and weeping with agitation the house keeper took her hand and led her to Verus, saying:

“This noble lord—may the blessing of the Most High be on him—staked his life to save us. This beautiful robe he let be rent for our sakes, and every daughter of Israel should fervently kiss this torn chiton, which in the eyes of God is more precious than the richest robe—as I do.”

And the old woman pressed the praetor’s dress to her lips, and tried to make Ismene do the same; but the praetor would not permit this.

“How can I allow my garment,” he exclaimed, laughing, “to enjoy a favor of which I should deem myself worthy—to be touched by such lips.”