The Roman sotk-2

by Mika Waltari

  Suddenly he turned scarlet in the face and firmly rolled up his manuscript.

  “It’s time those Jewish fumes were blown out of your head,” he said. “You’ve not been to Athens yet. There’s a border dispute in Delphi which needs someone on the spot. And there’s trouble in Olympia over the program for the Games. You can go here and now. My lecturer at the chancery will give you all the information you need and also a letter of attorney.”

  The lovely Helvia stroked Gallio’s forehead and fat cheek with the tips of her fingers and intervened.

  “Why do you send such a talented youth on such a strenuous journey?” she said. “The Greeks will bring their disputes to you in time. This is Corinth. Friendship with a mature woman would develop the boy more than riding unnecessarily all over the place.”

  She looked past Gallio at me with smiling eyes and pulled up her mantle, which had slipped down from her white shoulder. Had I been more experienced, I could have described the artistic folds of her mantle, her elaborate hair style and the rare Indian jewelry she was wearing. I did not stop to stare but leaped to my feet, stood to attention and replied, “As you command, Proconsul.”

  In this way, Paul sowed dissension between me and Gallio, too. I left my house in Hierex’s hands and rode from Corinth with a few soldiers from the cohort and a Greek guide.

  There are far too many excellent descriptions of Delphi, Olympia and Athens for there to be any need for me to go into their incomparable sights. Not even Rome had hitherto succeeded in plundering them of more than a fraction of their art treasures, though it must be admitted that we have done our best ever since Sulla to enrich Rome at the expense of Greek treasures.

  But however much I strained my body by looking at all the sights, the beauty I saw seemed to mean nothing to me. Neither the painted marble, nor the ivories, nor the gold in the loveliest sculpture in existence seemed to touch my heart.

  I found out all about the boundary dispute in Delphi. For reasons of justice, I accepted invitations from both sides. In Delphi, I was able to see Pythia in her delirium with my own eyes. Her priests made out from her incomprehensible words one or two flattering personal predictions for me. I cannot even repeat them here.

  Near Olympia lies some votive lands, and a temple which Commantler Xenophon more than four hundred years ago dedicated to Artemis. A tenth of the harvest from the area was once used for the inhabitants’ harvest festival. Anyone who cared te could pick fruit from the ancient groves of fruit trees.

  But over the years, many landmarks had gone and the temple was sadly decayed. In the time of the Pompeians, even the goddess statue itself was taken back to Rome. The people who lived there were complaining that the man who had taken the votive lands into his possession no longer fulfilled the conditions demantled. They had carefully kept a stone carving on which one could still read:

  This place is dedicated to Artemis. He who enjoys possession of it must every year offer a tenth. From the residue, the maintenance of the temple must he found. Should anyone neglect this, the goddess will remember it.

  At the meeting of the people, some old men told of their memories from times gone by, when wine, flour and sweetmeats were distributed at the Artemis feast. Everyone had the hunting rights on the sacred land. I let them speak to a finish. The owner of the land finally promised that he would preserve the custom of the harvest festival but the maintenance of the temple was beyond his capacity. So I pronounced my judgment.

  “This is not for Rome to decide,” I said. “This you must settle with the goddess, as it is written here on this stone tablet.”

  The verdict pleased no one. While I was in Olympia, I heard that the owner had fallen down a crevasse while deer hunting, so I suppose

  Artemis was collecting her dues. He had no direct heirs, so the inhabitants of the district harmoniously shared out the votive land among themselves. I put this incident in the back of my mind to tell Claudius if I ever met him again. The Emperor liked old memorial tablets and could easily have the temple repaired.

  At last I arrived in Athens. As was the custom, I removed my armor at the city gates, put on a white mantle and a wreath on my head, and went on foot into the city, accompanied only by my Greek guide. I sent the soldiers on leave to Piraeus where they could amuse themselves under the protection of the Roman garrison at the port.

  It is true, as I had been told before, that one can see more idols than people in Athens. There are fine buildings erected by eastern kings and, at the forum, philosophers walk about with their pupils from morning to night. In every alleyway there is a souvenir shop selling mostly cheap articles, but also expensive small copies of the temples and idols.

  After paying the official visit of greeting to the City Hall and the Areopagus council, I went to the best inn and met there several young men from Rome who were finishing their education in Athens before beginning in office. Some of them praised their teachers, others listed famous Hetaira names and their prices, and eating places where I needs must go.

  I was plagued by guides who wanted to show me the sights of Athens, but after walking around the marketplace for a few days and listening to different teachers, I became known and was left in peace. As far as I could make out, all the philosophers in Athens were competing with one another at teaching the art of acquiring peace of mind. They spoke with fire and wit, using striking metaphors, and liked disputing among themselves.

  Among them were one or two long-haired philosophers in goat-skin clothes. These itinerant teachers boasted of having traveled in India or Ethiopia and studying secret wisdoms. They told such impossible lies about their journeys that they made their listeners double up with laughter. Some of the coarsest of them have been banished by the Areopagus council, but in general anyone could stand there and talk about anything as long as he did not insult the gods or become involved in politics.

  I ate and drank and tried to enjoy my life. It was pleasant to sit in the sun on a warm marble bench after a good meal and watch the changing shadows of the passers-by on the marketplace’s marble paving-stones. Attic anecdotes are undeniably sharp. In a dispute, the one who has the laughs on his side always wins, but this Attic laughter seemed to me joyless and the thoughts behind it did not penetrate deeply into my mind as they ought to have done if they had been true wisdom. It seemed to me that what was being learned in Athens these days was a refined way of life to counteract the Roman coarseness, rather than genuine philosophy.

  From sheer defiance, I thought I would stay and study in Athens until Proconsul Gallio sent for me to return to Corinth. But the books in the libraries did not captivate me, such was my state of mind, nor did I find a teacher whose pupil I wished to be. Day after day I became more despondent, feeling a complete stranger in Athens. Occasionally I ate and drank with young Romans simply to be able to speak crystal clear Latin instead of the babbling Greek.

  Once I went with them to one of the famous Hetairas and listened to the flute music and watched the displays of dancing and acrobatics. I believed our smiling hostess when she said she could raise sensuality to a fine art. But she did not touch me and no one visiting her was forced to study the arts of the senses with the help of her trained slaves. She herself preferred to converse rather than go to bed with her guests. She demantled such an enormous sum that only the richest debauched old men could pay it. So she was so rich that she did not wish to tempt us young Romans to waste our money unnecessarily.

  “Perhaps my school is only for those who are already decrepit,” she said to me in the end, “though I’m proud of my art. You are young. You know what hunger and thirst are. Resinous wine and poor man’s bread taste better in your hungry mouth than Cypriot wine and flamingo tongues in a mouth that is weary. If you fall in love with a young maiden, the sight of a bare shoulder alone would dazzle your senses more than fulfillment of your desire. Smooth out that frown and be glad of your life, because you are still young.”

  ‘Would you rather tell me about the divine secrets
?” I suggested. “You serve Aphrodite with your art?”

  She looked thoughtfully at me with her beautifully darkened eyes.

  “Aphrodite is a capricious and merciless but also wonderful goddess,” she said. “He who strives for her favors most eagerly and sacrifices most to her, remains unsatisfied forever. She was born from the foam of the sea and is herself like the foam which bubbles and bursts. She herself dissolves into air when anyone avariciously grasps at her faultless limbs.”

  She too frowned a little as she raised both her hands and absently stared at her scarlet nails.

  “I can give you an example of her caprice,” she went on. “One of us is a woman who is still young enough to be without a wrinkle or a blemish. She has been a model for sculptors and has a great reputation as such. The goddess put it into her head that she must succeed in seducing all the famous philosophers who come to Athens to teach the art of virtue and self-control. In her vanity, she wishes to disgrace their wisdom and make them weep in her arms. She cracked many a hard nut by listening humbly to their teachings for evening after evening, and the philosophers praised her as the wisest of all women they had met, for she knew how to listen to them so attentively. But she was not after their wisdom. She used all her arts to make them stumble in their virtue. As soon as she succeeded, she drove them away and would not see them again, although some crawled on their hands and knees outside her door and one of them took his own life on her threshold. But some time ago, about six months or so, an itinerant Jew came to Athens.”

  “A Jew!” I cried, leaping to my feet. My head prickled as if my hair were standing on end. The Hetaira misunderstood my surprise and went on.

  “Yes, I know,” she said, “the Jews are powerful magicians. But this one was different. He spoke in the marketplace. He was questioned about his teaching by the Areopagus council, as is usual. He was a hook-nosed man, bald and bandy, but he was full of fire. The woman I am speaking of was seized with a wild desire to put the Jew’s teaching to shame too. She invited him to her house with other guests to listen to him, dressed herself demurely and covered her head to honor him. But whatever she did, she could not even tempt him, so she gave up and began to listen to him seriously. After he had left Athens, she became deeply depressed, shut up her house and now sees only the few Athenians who were impressed by the Jew’s teachings. The philosopher who can’t find a follower or two in Athens doesn’t exist. That was how the goddess took her revenge on her for her vanity, although she had brought great honor to Aphrodite. On my part, I’ve come to the conclusion that the Jew was not a genuine learned man but was bewitched by the goddess herself to resist all seductions. The poor woman is still so bitter over her humiliation that she threatens to leave our association and live a simple life on her savings.”

  She laughed and gave me a look which was meant to encourage me to join in the laughter. But I felt no desire to do so. So she grew serious again.

  “Youth flies swiftly past,” she admitted, “and beauty fades, but the true power of enchantment can be retained into old age with the favor of the goddess. I have an example of this in the woman who was until recently our oldest member and who at seventy could charm any youth.”

  ‘What is her name and where can I find her?” I asked.

  “She is already ashes. The goddess allowed her to die of a heart attack in her own bed as she was practicing her art for the last time,” said the Hetaira.

  “I don’t mean her, but the woman whom the Jew converted,” I said.

  “Her name is Damaris. You can easily ask the way to her house. But I told you, she is ashamed of her misfortune and doesn’t receive guests anymore. What is wrong with my house?”

  I remembered what courtesy demantled, praised her house, her entertainment, her sweet-smelling wine and her incomparable beauty, until she calmed down and forgot her indignation. After a suitable interval I rose, left my gift on a tray and went back to the inn in the most wretched state of mind. It was like a curse, that not even in Athens could I rid myself of Paul the Jew. Naturally he was the man of whom she had spoken.

  I could not sleep for a long time. I listened to the night sounds of the inn until dawn crept into my room through the gaps in the shutters, and I wished I were dead or had never been born. I had nothing to grumble about. I was more succcssful than most of my contemporaries. I was healthy and whole, too, except for a slight limp, and that did not stop me doing anything unless I wanted to be a priest in some Roman collegium. Why had all happiness been taken from me? Why had Claudia so cruelly used my credulity? What made me despair so at meeting Paul?

  Finally I fell into a deep sleep and slept until midday. When I awoke, I knew I had had a wonderful dream but I could not remember it. In contrast to my thoughts in the night, I had been filled with the knowledge that it was no chance matter that I had heard of the Hetaira Damaris, but that it contained some meaning. This conviction pleased me so much that I ate hungrily, went to a barber and had my hair curled. I also had my Greek mantle folded artistically.

  I found Damaris’ handsome house quite easily. The door knocker was a Corinthian bronze lizard. I knocked many times. A man passing by made an indecent gesture and shook his head to show that I was waiting to no purpose. Finally the door was opened by a tearful slave-girl. She tried to close it again but I put my foot in and said the first thing that came into my head.

  “In Corinth I met Paul the Jew. I wish to talk to your mistress. I want nothing else.”

  The girl reluctandy let me into a room filled with colored statues, decorated couches and eastern tapestries. After a short while, Damaris came swiftly in, half-dressed and barefooted. Her face shone with glad expectation and she welcomed me with eager gestures of her hands.

  “Who are you, stranger?” she asked. “Have you really a greeting for me from Paul the messenger?”

  I tried to explain that I had met Paul some time ago in Corinth and had had a long talk with him, and the conversation had made such an impression on me that I could not forget it. When I had heard that Damaris had been in difficulties because of the teachings of the wandering Jew, I wanted to meet her and talk about the matter.

  As I was speaking, I looked at Damaris and saw that she was a woman past the best years of her life. She must have been very beautiful and her slim figure was still faultless. Temptingly dressed and skillfully painted, her hair well brushed, in a dim light she would have made an impression on any man.

  She sat down wearily on a couch and signed to me to do the same. She must have noticed my scrutiny, because she put her hand to her hair, as women do, adjusted her clothes and pulled her bare feet under the folds of her mantle. But more than that she did not do. Her eyes were wide open as she stared at me. Suddenly I felt content in her company. I smiled.

  “That terrible Jew,” I said, “makes me feel like a rat in a trap. Is it the same with you, Damaris? Let’s both think of a way of opening the trap and getting our happiness back again.”

  She smiled too, but raised her hand in a defensive gesture.

  “Why are you afraid?” she said. “Paul is the messenger of the risen Christ and spreads the word of joy. I did not know the taste of true happiness in my life until I met him.”

  “Was it really you who made the wisest of men fall?” I cried in surprise. “You talk as though you were out of your mind.”

  “My old friends think I am out of my mind,” she admitted unhesitatingly. “But I’d rather be out of my mind because of his teaching than continue my former life. He looked straight through me in quite a different way from that of the lewd white-bearded philosophers. I was ashamed of my earlier self. Through his Lord I have been forgiven my sins. I journey on the new way with my eyes closed as if the spirit were guiding me.”

  “If that is so,” I said curtly, “then we’ve nothing to say to each other.”

  But she kept me there, covering her eyes with her hand.

  “Don’t go,” she said. “You were meant to come. Something has hurt
your heart. Otherwise you would hardly have come. If you like, I’ll introduce you to the brothers who listened to him and believed in the message of joy.”

  This was how I came to know Damaris and some Greeks who used to come the back way to her house in the evenings to discuss Paul and the new teaching. From the start they had been tempted to the synagogue by their curiosity about the Jewish god. They had also read the Jewish holy scripts. The most learned of them was Dionysius, a judge on the Areopagus council who had officially spoken with Paul on his teaching.

  To be honest, Dionysius spoke so learnedly and in such an involved way that not even his friends fully understood him, much less fr But he probably meant well with his expositions at our meetings. Damaris listened to him with an absent smile on her face, just as she had probably listened to the other wise men.

  After the discussion, Damaris offered us a simple meal and we used to break bread together and drink wine in the name of Christ, for Paul had taught them to do that. But even to a simple meal like this, the Athenians had to give fourfold import. It was Both material and symbolic, morally elevating and a mystical striving toward communion with Christ and a mutual brotherhood between the partakers.

  As we talked, I usually looked at Damaris. After the meal I was glad to kiss her, as the Christian custom demands. I had never seen a woman behave so charmingly and yet so naturally as she did. Every movement she made was beautiful and her voice was so lovely that one listened to the tone of it rather than her words. Whatever she did, she did so beautifully that it was sheer pleasure to watch her. Pleasure turned to heartwarming joy as I kissed her soft lips in friendship.

  Paul seemed to have given the Greeks some hard nuts to crack. They genuinely enjoyed their discussions. They believed implicitly in Paul, but their own knowledge impelled them to certain reservations. Bewitched by Damaris, I contented myself with just looking at her and allowed the words to pass me by.